


(In)vulnerable

by staranon



Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Injury, Fake AH Crew, FakeHaus, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Smut, Temporary Character Death, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, but self harm in a different sense, see end notes in ch 4 for more details, unhealthy relationships is more just a warning than anything lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranon/pseuds/staranon
Summary: They're immortal, not invulnerable. And sometimes that's a difficult lesson to learn.--In which Ryan stumbles across an amnesiac immortal and it all sort of tumbles out of control from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a self indulgent mess that took on life as its own
> 
> it's all written and waiting to be edited, so you'll receive updates like every week? anyway. never fear. this is not a wip. i actually have discipline for once lol

In his infinite immortality, Ryan swings between two extremes. There are times when he doesn’t know what being human is like—when he’s his most volatile, most extreme. Fits of rage and passion. The other extreme is the ultra-humanistic side. When he’s feeling such grief and such sadness that other people can’t experience what he’s experience, that they’re not thinking of the future. Grief because he can’t share this life with anyone else.

It’s because of these two extremes that he fits in with the crime life so well. He can do anything so long as it’s physically possible.

Being a criminal with a group of immortals is definitely where it’s at right now. He’d be lost without the other five—and probably bored. Bored as hell. Because they keep things lively, interesting.

When Ryan’s not swinging between his two extremes, he can be rather docile. As docile as an immortal can be. He’s the Vagabond, but he’s not completely untameable. Sometimes he finds enjoyment in human suffering. Sometimes he wants to go to the nearest art gallery and contemplate existence while looking at a Monet.

He’s complicated.

You would be too after living lifetimes upon lifetimes.

He likes going to cage fights. It’s usually his Friday night thing with Jeremy and Michael. They like going out, placing some bets and seeing what comes from it. Ryan likes going for the precision. Cage fighters are _nasty_ to each other, but there’s an art to it. A meanness and grit that Ryan’s mesmerized by. The energy of the crowd is also something he lives for. The destitute, the _wrongness_ of it all. Making money while two people go at it until they’re nearly dead, the illegalities of it all. It’s like living on the edge if the edge was only twenty feet up in the air. Safe enough for an immortal to dabble in but not a civilian.

“Oh, here comes Eurotrash,” Jeremy says, nudging Ryan in the side, and hunching forward to get a better look.

“Eurotrash?” Ryan asks. “Who’s that?”

“Just the guy we call with the shaved haircut,” Michael says. “Never stay long enough to hear his name, but his haircut got us thinking.”

Ryan looks down at the caged arena. They usually pick a spot high up in the bleachers, so they can talk about whatever they want and not get called out on anything they say. He focuses in on the one fighter who looks like he'd like to be anywhere but here. True, some cage fighters are more indentured than most. It’s a way to make money and to pay off your debts if you’re good with your fists. He’s standing there stoically, not riling up the crowd like his opponent is. He looks impressive with the broad shoulders, chest roped with muscle, cutting down to a nicely proportioned waist. Shaved hair on the sides of his head, left longer on the top, he doesn’t look happy to be here. And Ryan wants to know why. He wants to know the story behind this fighter.

“You guys been watching him then?” Ryan asks.

“Every once in a while,” Jeremy says. "Saw him in Vegas a few months back and tracked him for a while until he came up here."

“I mean, he’s not the best fighter,” Michael says.

“Nah, the guy takes a beating quite a lot, but he can _take_ a beating, you know what I’m saying?”

Ryan does. People who can take beatings have a grit to them, have something that just can’t be crushed in them.

“Nah, but he’s got some mean moves,” Michael adds. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

So Ryan does with fervor. When he gets something in his mind, he usually can’t put it down until he knows every dirty little secret about it.

Eurotrash—for lack of a better name—fights like his life depends on it. And maybe that’s not far from the truth. Cage fighting is more on the unethical sides of things than people would like to admit. Cage fighters are often fighting to clear a debt. They’re fighting for their next meal. They’re fighting because they messed with the wrong person and this is the only way they can keep their head on their shoulders. Eurotrash probably fits into one of these categories.

The fight is intense. Eurotrash’s opponent is clearly much more skilled than him. Usually cage fighting, as nasty as it is, tried to pit two fighters of equal skills together, but sometimes if someone wanted a more exciting and brutal match, then they’d grease the wheels a bit. Eurotrash is getting his ass kicked. One solid blow to the head and he’s done.

“And this is supposed to be exciting how?” Ryan asks.

“Just wait for it,” Michael says.

Ryan huffs and sets his chin in his hands. Eurotrash is being toyed with, being hauled around by his hair or being ground down into the uncomfortable matts of the ring. He’s got a good stance, though, when he can get on his feet. He knows how to block, how to move, but it's odd. How can he manage such a scrappy fight? But look like nothing is keeping him going? Like this is just another round to him and he has to put on a good performance. So he does and yet it's hollow.

His opponent is simply toying with him at this point. Feeding off the crowd’s jeers and taunts. This is blood sport, and for a moment, Ryan thinks he’s going to watch Eurotrash get killed. It wouldn’t be unheard of in cage fighting. Nor would it be the firs time Ryan had seen someone die.

Eurotrash ends up on his back, movements sluggish, blood thick and dark on his face. His opponent turns to the crowd, gears up but he doesn’t see as Eurotrash rolls on his hands and knees and then launches himself at the other with a surprising show of energy. He locks his arm around the other man’s neck and yanks him down to the ground. He locks his legs around the man’s waist, holds him tight, holds him steady as he thrashes and flails. It’s enough to tire him out and get him to collapse—unconscious. Eurotrash releases his hold and stands wearily but victoriously. He’s declared the winner and the crowd goes insane. Of course they do. Who doesn’t love a good underdog fight?

“See?” Jeremy says. “We told ya. Fucking brilliant.”

The fight’s done and money begins to exchange hands, but Ryan keeps looking at Eurotrash as he’s escorted out of the cage and away from the crowd. He’s not picking up any money. Probably a debt thing. Would explain why he was so miserable during the fight.

“Got your eye on something, Ryan?” Michael says.

They’re teasing him. He only frowns. “Never you mind.”

They laugh and he makes his escape down off the bleachers. He goes to chase after Eurotrash. It’s not like he’s captivated, just interested. He wants to get a bit closer.

Eurotrash has been taken off to separate rooms that has one man standing at the door. From his vantage point, he can look into the room and see Eurotrash sitting on a bench. He looks despondent, isn’t even tending to his raw knuckles, tender nose. There’s a woman there speaking to a few other people.

“Can I help you?” the woman asks, turning to look at and acknowledge Ryan.

He juts his chin in Eurotrash’s direction, who’s still done nothing about the blood on his face. “The fighter. What’s his name?”

“Are you wanting a fight? He won’t be ready for two days.”

_Two days? That was a fast turnover cycle._

“Maybe I’m more interested in acquisition,” Ryan says. “What then?”

The woman smiles at him wryly. “I’m afraid he and I have come to agreement about the terms he fights under.”

Ryan nods. “Fair. When’s he fighting?”

“The docks. He’s fighting the Morose. Pretty good odds from what I hear.”

Ryan pretends to look intrigued. “Perhaps I’ll see you then.”

He then leaves. He has a date and a location. He can see the fighter again and look further into the mystery behind Eurotrash.

He goes to the dock fights on his own for the next fight, doesn’t take Jeremy or Michael. This he wants to investigate on his own.

He sits up on a stack of crates, looking down at the old, scuffed up boxing ring he remembers during his days as a dock fighter. 1880s perhaps. East coast. It was ugly then. This is more . . . vintage. Retro classic.

The Morose is announced first. He’s quite the fan favourite here, so the crowd is keyed up and ready to see where this fight takes them. Then Eurotrash is brought up onto the stage, identified only by the moniker of the Kid. Ryan can’t believe what he’s seeing. Eurotrash is completely healed. There are no bruises. There’s nothing to suggest that he’s sore or moving stiff. He looks just like he did two days ago before the fight.

People don’t heal that fast. Even if he were wearing makeup, Ryan would be able to tell.

He decides to move closer to the fight to try and get a better look. The fight is announced, and the people clamber at the edges for blood. Ryan looks up, sees Eurotrash buckle under the Morose’s heavy hand. Ryan wonders if Eurotrash’s benefactor specifically pairs him with well-known fighters, makes him out to be the underdog so she can make a killing. It’s a ludicrous deal, but the people don’t care.

Eurotrash goes down heavy on his hands and knees. Morose seizes a handful of Eurotrash’s hair and yanks his head back. Eurotrash grimaces, reaches for Morose’s hand, but Morose has the advantage. He lands his elbow hard against Eurotrash’s back and sends him down again. Then he moves to straddle Eurotrash’s hips, wraps his arm around Eurotrash’s neck, and _pulls._ He begins to strangle his opponent, putting the pressure on his spine. It’s an odd enough angle to hurt him—doesn’t give him leverage to have a fighting chance.

Just when Ryan thinks he’s done, Eurotrash digs his fingers into Morose’s arm. He digs them in hard enough to get a bit of leverage before sinking his teeth into the meat of his arm. Morose _screams_ and lets go of Eurotrash, but not before Eurotrash takes out a sizeable chunk from his arm.

Ryan moves, tries to get a better angle of the fighters as they move to opposite ends of the ring. Eurotrash is crouched, breathing hard and bloody at his teeth. Ryan is mesmerized. He’s so wild— _feral_ looking. Like he’s tapped into the primal, animalistic part of himself. Like he’s—like he’s . . .

_Like he’s not even human._

Eurotrash wins the fight through sheer brutality. He’s a mess at the end of it. He stands over Morose’s prone body and just looks at him. Like he’s not even aware of what he did to the other man.

Ryan has seen this look before. It’s when you’re struggling to remember what feeling human is like. It’s when you don’t know how far is too far, what that radiating heat from your broken hand means; it’s when you don’t know where you are, why you’re here, or what you’re doing. You’re so out of your mind that everything you experience is surreal. It’s what immortals experience when they’ve been pushed too far, killed too many times, have lived too long a life, and they need to back out but they _can’t_ have one

And Ryan knows all too well what that feels like.

The ring is cleared quickly. Morose is dragged out, and someone pulls Eurotrash out by his arm. The crowd’s too riled up to collect their money, but this gives Ryan the diversion to go after Eurotrash. He’s taken into one of the many buildings here on the docks, a back office of sorts. He tries to make a discrete approach, but he’s found out.

“Told you it’d be a good fight,” the woman says. She smiles up at Ryan, looking proud of how the fight turned out.

“Quick turnaround time,” Ryan says. “Like he didn’t even fight at all the other day.” She betrays nothing. Nothing at all.

“A strict regimen keeps him fit,” she says. “He’s impressive.”

“Will you be staying here long?” he asks. “There are good fights here. The La Guardia Circuit is about to start.”

“Circuits aren’t his style. Other fighters get too close. They like getting under their opponents' skin and that's not putting his skills to the test in the right way. We prefer prime nights.”

“You staying long then?”

She shakes her head. “We’re heading to the Indies. We’ve been here too long as it is.”

Ryan nods. “Well, I wish you good luck. Fighters like him don’t come around all that often.”

“No. They don’t.”

They both laugh for entirely different reasons. He leaves to go to his car—a black 2010 Hyundai Sonata. It's his civilian car, something no one will be able to pinpoint and say 'that's him, officer; that's the Vagabond.'

Michael’s been texting him, asking him where he is. Ryan knows he’ll regret this later, but he ignores the texts in favour of pulling on a bulletproof best before shoving his arms into his sleeves. Even when you’re immortal, pulling a bullet out of your chest is still a nightmare afterwards. He pulls on his mask before arming up and looking for a way to climb back into the warehouse and getting to Eurotrash.

It’s dark now. No one’s around, all have taken their money and left. He gets on a stack of crates to the nearest window and peers inside. He sees a dog cage with a man shoved inside. It’s all sat on a tarp. He looks to be bound at the wrists—blindfolded and gagged. Ryan can’t hear what the others are saying, but the woman comes up and fires a gun. The man within the cage goes limp.

Ah. That explains the tarp then. Easier to clean. The woman beckons her men to her and they leave the room. He pries open the window and squeezes through. He lands lightly and stalks over to the cage. Eurotrash has revived, but his breathing is haggard. So his hunches were correct then. He's an immortal. Ryan wonders . . . he wonders if—

He reaches through the grill of the cage and brushes the blindfold. The man throws himself hard against the other side of the cage. Ryan tugs at the blindfold and unknots it. His pupils are blown wide. There’s blood all over the side of his face, tacked into his hair. He slams himself again on the side of the cage again when he sees Ryan. He wonders how aware this man actually is. If they . . . if these people have killed him after every fight to get him ready for the next one—how much damage did that do to him? How long has he been held like this? Is there even a way to regain whatever sense of _him_ is left?

He may also be spooked because, hey, there’s a man wearing a skull mask in front of him and that’s not something you see every day.

“Settle— _settle down_.” The man hardly looks at him as Ryan speaks. “I’m going to get you out of this cage. I’m going to get you out of here. Would you like that?” The man stops squirming, seems like he’s listening to Ryan now, but before Ryan can make more progress, a door opens from behind him.

“What—who are you?”

Ryan stands and turns, finding two men standing across from him. One man’s eyes widen comically. Another’s already drawing his gun and firing. Ryan takes one bullet in the shoulder and feels one crash into the bullet proof vest. The woman comes out from the room, standing behind her thugs. She looks shocked, glares at Ryan, and settles on a steely gaze. He regards her calmly, betraying nothing that he’d been shot.

“I think you already know,” he says.

He rushes them. It’s never pretty when he does this, but he’s so, _so_ angry that this happened. That there’s an immortal here being used like this. It’s _rumored_ that there are immortals. That it’s a joke on the internet. But the truth is, there are very few immortals. And there’s nothing interesting about being alive for all of fucking eternity, okay? There isn’t. It’s just one terrible tragedy over another until you’re so jaded that you just do shit because you have nothing else to do.

The woman ends up dead. So are her men. The only sound in the warehouse is the other immortal’s panicked breathing. Ryan must look a sight. The mask might not be ideal right now, not if the immortal might not be all that sure of his surroundings. He turns to the cage and kneels beside it. He pulls off his mask.

“You’re coming with me,” Ryan says, leaving no room to argue. Not like the immortal probably could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan gets a roommate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again with chapter two

The apartment is in the condominium area of Los Santos. And not the beach view condos either. These are the brick and mortar condos that are so non-descript and full of working class folks that it’s easy for Ryan to blend into. He’s never let anyone of the crew come up here before. That’s not the purpose for it. This is where Ryan goes when he needs a break. Only a temporary one. It’s quiet here and sometimes that’s what he needs. But he hasn’t needed this place for a long time.

He hustles the immortal in with his jacket thrown haphazardly over the other’s shoulders. He’s dressed in nothing but a loose pair of briefs and is shacking considerably. He hasn’t done or said anything since Ryan pulled him from the cage. He sat, wide eyed and shocked, in the passenger’s seat all the here, going where Ryan directed him to. It’s unnerving just how compliant he is.

The apartment feels cold and smells musty. There’s too much dust on the surfaces. Ryan had to fumble for his key. The floors are cold, the bed unmade, but there are some clean clothes here. He’s able to get the immortal into the bathroom to shower. Despite how out of it he may seem, he knows his way around a shower.

“Change into these when you’re done,” he says, setting the clothes and folded towel on top of the sink. He means it as a firm order, doesn’t know what the immortal has been denied in the years he spent as a cage fighter. As Ryan steps into the kitchen to order in some food, he can hear the water running. He pulls out his phone to check for any pertinent notifications. Michael’s left him a voicemail and a few texts. Ryan sends off a response just to clear up any confusion and assuage any fears.

_I’m fine_

_Just ran into a little tousle_

Michael’s reply is quick

_Are you ok????_

Ryan’s response: _just fine. lying low at my place. talk to you in the morning_

He brushes aside any response Michael makes and puts in an order of food. Not many options this late at night, but at least he manages to get something more substantial than pizza. He locks the phone and tosses it aside. Michael can wait. He has to focus on the immortal. He doesn’t think bringing any of the others here would be a good idea. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to do now. What’s he supposed to do here? How is here supposed to take care of an immortal like this? Maybe . . . maybe Ryan’s overthinking this. Maybe he’s not as bad—

The immortal steps into the kitchen. He’s wearing the clothes, Ryan’s clothes. The shirt’s a bit tight in the shoulders for him, but the pants fit at least. Ryan pockets his phone, watches as the immortal slowly moves into the kitchen and then looks at Ryan. He waits for Ryan to speak.

“Food will be here soon,” he says. “You can take a seat. I’ll make up the bed for you and there are glasses in the cupboard, and the water’s good from the tap.”

The immortal looks a bit lost. Like he needs something more from Ryan, but Ryan doesn’t know what it is. So he takes a step back and Ryan departs so he can make up the bed, pull out a clean set of sheets so at least the poor guy has a place to sleep. He stretches sheets out over the mattress, makes sure the curtains are closed for the night. He doesn’t want anyone looking in. He’ll be up all night to make sure no one followed them.

Then—

Two things happen. There’s a stern knock at the door and a glass shatters. Ryan rushes to the kitchen and sees that the immortal has dropped to the ground against the cabinets—shaking and breathing hard, glass and water is gathered around him. Ryan stoops to his level, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “It’s okay, it’s . . . there’s nothing to worry about.” He’s not a tender man by nature. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to talk someone down from a panic attack.

Another knock. It’s probably the food.

“Stay here. It’s nothing to worry about. You’ll see.”

He stands slowly and crosses the room to the door. He opens it. A bored looking delivery man looks out at him. “Delivery’s $24.81, man.”

“Right,” Ryan says. “Hang on.” He digs around for his wallet and gives the kid thirty dollars. “Keep the change.” He takes the food and goes back inside. The immortal is still on the floor where Ryan left him. He takes the time to set out the food on the bar, decides that maybe giving the immortal some space to come back to himself will do him some good.

Food’s out, plates are out, cutlery rests beside them neatly. Ryan sits on one of the bar stools and starts to eat. It’s another minute before the immortal stands shakily. “Leave the glass,” Ryan says. “And you can sit here. Eat while it’s still hot.”

It’s odd, this immortal. He seems both perfectly aware of his own situation and then completely loses it the next.

He sits next to Ryan and picks up the fork, completely forgoes the chopsticks. He eats very slowly, but he eats. He looks well fed at least. The woman knew to feed him then. But her level of care and concern probably didn’t extend far.

The immortal seems to have calmed now, and this allows Ryan to mop up the water and clean up the glass. He stands on the other side of the bar, watching the immortal clear his plate. Then the immortal sets aside his utensils, prods them a bit until they’re gathered neatly along the edge of the plate.

It’s a long time before he speaks. Before he says anything. Ryan cleans up the remains of dinner, clears the plates in the meantime.

* * *

 “Are you going to make me fight?”

“No.”

 

 

“Then what—”

“I’m not here to make you do anything.”

“Oh.”

 

 

“How often did you fight?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How long it took us to get to a city. Sometimes two or three nights a week. Sometimes one.”

 

 

“Did they shoot you each time?”

“Yes. Made me heal quicker.”

“How long have you been fighting?”

“A long time. Years.”

 

 

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t remember.”

“Okay.”

* * *

The immortal’s in bed now. The door to the bedroom remains open. The immortal never closed it, and neither did Ryan. He wants to keep an eye and ear on him for the night, figure out what he’s going to do in the coming days now that he’s here.

He finally has time to move into the bathroom and shut the door. He pulls off his shirt—with some difficulty—and works off the vest. An immortal’s body has the ability to regenerate itself after death. It’s what makes them _immortal,_ but other than that nifty ability, Ryan has to deal with cleaning up and suturing his own wounds. He _feels_ like anyone else does. He can feel pain. He’s bound by the laws of physics that everyone else is. He just doesn’t stay dead. There’s nothing grandiose about being immortal when really you’re just a human that doesn’t die.

It kind of sucks

He doesn’t know if he processes pain the way he used to before his first death. Yes, everything still hurts as he douses the scratches and skims with rubbing alcohol, but does it hurt like everything once did? Has pain dimmed since his first death?

He doesn’t know. All he can do is patch himself up until he dies on the job again and he wakes up with unblemished skin.

He dresses and moves to the living room. There’s no TV here. Doesn’t even have his laptop. There’s a charger, though, so he plugs in his phone and sends a group message to the crew about where he’s been for the day.

_Laying low for now. Got in a scrap. Am fine tho_

Michael, predictably, calls him a minute after the message was sent.

_“Where the fuck have you been all day? What happened?”_

Michael’s a spitfire. His care and concern often falls in line with other’s frustration. But that’s the only way he knows how to care.

“Yeah. Um, just got into a bit of a fight with some unsavoury people at the docks. Nothing I couldn’t handle?”

_“What were you doing on the fucking docks? We got no shit out that way.”_

There’s a sudden path before Ryan right now. He could Michael he has an immortal cage fighter in his apartment and he has no idea what he’s doing. Or he could keep it a secret. Figure out how deep that fighting ring went and make sure no one comes after them.

“Just talking a walk. Trying to clear my head.”

Michael’s silent for a spell. Speaks in a softer tone. _“You doing okay? You want me to come down? Where are you by the way?”_

“I’m fine, Michael. Just got a bit sentimental. I’ll, um, I’ll swing by yours for breakfast?”

_“You fucking better.”_

Ryan smiles. “I will. Sleep tight, okay?”

 _“Fine._ ”

Neither of them are known for their tenderness. Over the phone it’s worse, but in person, when it’s just the two of them in the room, then they finally open up. Ryan just doesn’t know why he can’t let anyone in to see the immortal. The immortal is his responsibility, his to deal with.

* * *

The immortal steps into the kitchen the next morning rather early. Ryan’s already gone out to one of those early markets to pick up some food for him, something to stock the cupboards with for the next few days if Ryan gets stuck with work.

“Sleep well?” Ryan asks.

The immortal’s taking in the apartment again like he doesn’t remember how he got here. But there’s a calmness to his eyes—either he’s accepting of the situation, or he’s resigning himself to it.

“Got some food. I don’t know exactly what you like to eat, so I grabbed a little of everything. Easy to make stuff.” He watches as the immortal comes close to him, takes a look at the food. Ryan sets him on his way to get something on a plate, pour of a glass of orange juice, and get him seated at the bar.

“Will you need me to do anything?” the immortal asks. “I can . . . I can clean or, or I can clean your gun or—”

“You don’t have to do anything.” He can sense the immortal’s anxiety. His shoulders have tensed. He’s not looking up. “I don’t expect you to do anything. Do you . . . do you understand why you’re here with me?”

The immortal drags his eyes up to Ryan. “You wanted me. Saw me fight and took me.”

 _Oh._ Well. that’s a rather poor first impression.

“You’re not . . .” He tests the wording out in his head. “You’re not mine. You’re not anyone else’s. Do you understand that?”

The immortal rests his elbows on the counter top, folds his hands together. “I don’t . . . what do you want me for then?”

“To help you,” Ryan says, but he doesn’t know if he believes himself.

It always comes back to that question, doesn’t it?

Why did Ryan go after him? What does he want him for?

But they leave it at that and say no more.

* * *

It’s mid-morning by the time Ryan decides to leave. He can only put Michael off for so long before he’ll come barging in here, and no one needs that. Not at this time.

“I’m heading out and I don’t know when I’ll be back. There’s enough food here for you to eat, and I’ve got an emergency cellphone in the bedroom. Only call me if it’s an emergency. Otherwise, I’ve got some books around. Don’t answer the door if anyone knocks and stay inside, okay?”

It’s with an unsettling ease that the immortal just accepts all of this, and Ryan wonders if he’s pushing him too far. If he’s asking for too much.

But the immortal says, “Okay.”

Ryan leaves him there, standing in the middle of the room, looking out of place but so, _so_ trusting.

Makes him feel guilty. He has this immortal, who can’t remember his own damn name, completely dependent upon him. And he can’t screw this up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan tries to be the good guy and fails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy. near 5000 words on this one
> 
> pace yourselves

When he gets to Michael’s late that morning, he tries to school his features—can’t let on that he went after the immortal and discovered him to be an indentured immortal.

“Got into a fight and you didn’t even call me?” Michael says upon his arrival.

Ryan smiles. “Wouldn’t have been a fair fight.”

He’s pulled into the apartment, and they set out the enjoyable process of making breakfast. Which is always an experience with Michael. He likes to go wild with his flavour combinations.

If you’re an old immortal and haven’t picked up culinary skills, then what are you doing with your life? _Really._ Ryan enjoys cooking. Especially now in the modern age when everything is so readily accessible. In another life, he could’ve easily become a glutton. But he’s not. He’s been in crime for too long because he realized money makes the world go round and there’s a shit ton of money in crime.

“Got any plans for the day?” Michael asks. His lips twitch, like he can’t keep something back.

“What do you have in mind?”

* * *

Immortals aren’t meant to be alone. They aren’t meant to be with mortals. But they’re so few and far between that it takes a while to find someone that shares your experience with life.

Immortals are a joke on the internet. They’re rumors throughout history and cryptids. Did Houdini really die? Since they can’t find Alexander the Great’s tomb, does that mean he’s really dead? This is the space Ryan lives in.

He met each of them throughout the centuries. He’s old as dirt, possibly the oldest of them, but he’s not quite sure. Childhood memories and the like are all a blur. He’s not even sure which region he came from. But he does remember with surprising clarity when he met the five of them.

Jack was during the height of the Roman Empire. Ryan was a roman noble. Jack was simply passing through, taking in the sites, stirring up trouble. She actually hated Rome. Hated everything about it. It was no reason as to why it burned when she left, taking Ryan’s livelihood and his heart with her.  

He first met Geoff in the 1100s during a crusade. He was bored. It was what all the peasants were doing then. Turns out, Geoff was bored, too. They struck it off immediately, and Ryan learned of his affinity for books.

He met Gavin on a ship to Australia. He’d wanted to see the world and so too did Gavin. They had so many whirlwind adventures together abroad, and kept in touch even after they left.

Jeremy he met in the miserable snows of Siberia. At that period of his life, Ryan was interested into how far he could push his own limitations. Jeremy was living there in self-imposed isolation. Needed the quiet to think, he said. Ryan never did find out why Jeremy would go out to the white wastelands of Siberia, but there was something sad about him then.

The last he met was Michael. Spitfire Michael during the prohibition era who got into street racing and helped start the tradition of NASCAR.

They’d ultimately come together at the height of economic prosperity in the 90s on the west coast of the States. In 2005, they’d find their calling by planning low stake thefts in Liberty City, across the country on the east coast. They robbed jewelry stores, bust open ATM machines, and spray paint the city until their hands were stained. It was short-lived, however, and one too many suspicious regens meant they needed to find a new home and lay low. During the initial research period to find the best city to set up in, Gavin caught wind of a string of arson and robberies in the city Los Santos across the country. Now that was a city filled with the destitute and enough corrupt cops to make it big. They set up in 2008, taking a bit of a break until their own fame faded from the public’s attention. And by 2010, everyone knew their names as the Fakes and the personas they wore with pride.

In the ten odd years they’ve been in this city, it wasn’t much to an immortal. They’ve known each other for _years._ Centuries, really, because immortals know of each other. They hear of each other because they’re the only constant in each other’s lives. So when Geoff called them together, said he had a plan, they all came.

Ryan’s _sure_ there’s more than just six of them out there in the world. He only remembers meeting the five of them, doesn’t know if all the countless people he’s met were actually immortals undercover. He never stopped to ask—that would take too much time, and mortals are often scared of things they don’t understand.

Ryan knows—knows better than most he thinks, but then again Michael probably understands as well. There are few ways you can silence an immortal. Given enough time and enough reason to fear, mortals become creative and turn immortals into monsters and myths. Since you cannot kill an immortal, not truly, then you must lock them up tight and dispose of them. Build tombs out the cliff side, lock them in chains in a box, anchor their feet to a cinder block and kick it into the water with their hands bound behind their backs.

It’s truly awful to die again and again and again. The _pain._ The need for mercy when there will never be any. Ryan’s prayed to many deities in his isolation. For many years, he’s feared the dark, feared the tight spaces.

It was Jack who found him in Salem, 18th century, feral and mad after years locked in a cellar, forgotten and left to die. He knew no words then. Only snarled and bit and didn’t remember what it was like to be human even after Jack had said his name.

_“Ryan? Is that you? Do you remember me?”_

Retaining your humanity is the hard part of being immortal. And Ryan wonders if the immortal in his apartment will ever be the same.

* * *

Michael’s good for a distraction, good for keeping his feet on the ground. Because no one understands him and his experience quite like Michael does.

Michael’s who’s burned and been burned so many times in his life that he’s nearly the embodiment of flame. He still lives fast like he’s mortal despite his age. He can flip between two extremes of chaos absolute—when he doesn’t care about the extent of his destruction—or he’s just so far away in his own head and his own memories that he forgets where he is and who he’s with. The trick to living as an immortal is finding a balance between these extremes. Living like a human even if you don’t feel like one.

They look after each other, the two of them. Can tell when the other is about to tip over the edge and try to destroy themselves. Rome burning was Jack’s moment. A cry for help, for attention, or a wish for utter destruction.

They’re in a junkyard with a BB gun and an assortment of cans and bottles scattered around at various heights and distances. They’re taking shots and drinking, well, _shots_ (actual liquor for Michael and non-liquor for Ryan since he doesn’t like what alcohol does to his body) for every shot that they miss. It’s a good day. It’s a quiet day. With their claiming of the criminal underworld in this city, they have a surprising amount of off days because, well, when you’re immortal and at the top of your game sometimes you just want to get lazy. And they’ll probably only be able to keep this gig going for about ten, maybe twenty years until someone realizes they’re not aging before faking their deaths and starting over in another city. Which is probably what they’ll do. It’s what’s known as Plan G.

“I’m trying to convince Geoff to let me spearhead the next heist,” Michael says.

“Mmhm.” Ryan has the BB gun against his shoulder, trying to aim for the furthest can, but BB guns are notorious for crooked sight. He doesn’t do a good job of it. “That sounds like it’s going to be a nightmare.”

Michael smiles at him, all teeth. “How much you want to bet I can keep Gavin alive this time?”

Ryan laughs, passes the gun off. “All the money in the world. He has _no_ concept of danger.”

“I know. That’s half the fun of it.”

“Yeah and half the challenge.”

Michael fires off a few shots, manages to get four out of five before handing the gun back. “I know we really haven’t talked recently about . . . well, about us. And what’s been happening.”

He fires a shot. “I’m not, like, in a weird mood right now. I don’t know. Maybe I’m bored.”

“Yeah, Geoff has gotten pretty lazy about us. But that doesn’t mean we can’t go on our own, you know. Have some fun.”

Ryan likes the sound of that. He’d like nothing more than to feel like he’s not being chained down, like he’s not being slowly choked. He doesn’t know what’s brought on this feeling, like he’s at the edge of his rope. But he knows being idle and being on his own won’t fix it.

“Want to go for a drive?” Ryan suggests, and Michael nods, tossing back the rest of his drink before tossing the can up high in the air and firing off a quick shot. His reflexes have always been like a cat.

“Let’s head out.”

* * *

Maybe he forgets. Maybe he’s denying the reality of his situation. But whatever happens, he suddenly realizes there’s an amnesiac immortal waiting for him.

It’s been five days. It’s easy to lose track of time when you live like this, but he makes his departure and goes to his apartment. The door is still intact. The locks are still in place, and when Ryan steps in, there’s a blanket on the couch, and then coming around the corner from the kitchen is the immortal.

There’s an instant moment of relief on his face, and seeing the way his lips twitch, he’s fighting back a smile as well—a relieved gesture no doubt. It makes Ryan feel like honest shit. How could he forget that he has an immortal here to take care of? How does that happen? But then again, he hasn’t been feeling all that himself lately.

“You’re back,” the immortal says, and Ryan nods, shuts the door and locks it again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” he says, feeling sheepish, but the immortal shakes his head.

“It’s . . . it’s fine,” he says, crossing his arms and tilting his head down, making Ryan feel even guiltier.

He’s brought his laptop this time, sets up on the couch. He hears the immortal move around a bit until he comes to sit on the other end of the couch.

“I mean, you came back, though,” he goes on to say. It seems like the silence unnerves him. “I didn’t . . . I never left. I kept quiet. No one came to the door.”

It’s odd for Ryan to be hearing this, like it’s some sort of report the immortal is giving him. That he’s been _good._ That Ryan doesn’t need to worry about him because he follows instructions. And it makes him wonder what those people did to him beyond making him fight.

“I trust you,” he says. He looks to him and sees how his shoulders have loosened at that remark. “And I am honestly sorry for leaving for as long as I did. I lost track of time.”

“Does this mean you’ve got a job for me?” The immortal’s still set on doing something for Ryan. Earning his keep essentially.

“No, no, I—I just want to help you. Can you . . . can you tell me what you remember? When you first started working for those people?”

He has his laptop open and he wants information to start looking for forums, boards, anything that betrays an immortal fighting ring. Ryan’s been in it before. He knows how ugly it can get. And he wants to stop it if it’s still going on.

But then what? What’s he going to do with this immortal once he’s completed his investigation?

_He could keep him, let him stay here._

An amnesiac immortal might not be good to leave on the streets. Ryan’s been on that end of losing yourself, your sense of identity that you’ve solidified over centuries of living. And the only reason why he survived that part of his life is because he had friends surrounding him. People who knew him and could bring him from that cold and isolating place.

 _“You may not remember yet, but we know each other. First in Rome, then in Francia, Greenland, the Plains of North America.” Jack spoke to him, reached out to him as he snarled, eyes wide, chains staked deep into the ground and stone to keep him trapped. “No matter where you were, you always went by the name Ryan. Never reinvented yourself, never went by a pseudonym. You were always_ Ryan. _And you still are. Just. Believe me.”_

He focuses on the immortal beside him, knowing he’s the man’s only chance of regaining a semblance of a normal life.

“I don’t—” He frowns, props his elbow up on the arm of the couch to rest his head in his hand. “It’s hard to think of back then. I remember . . .” His face suddenly changes from that of frustration to deep melancholy. “I remember the world being on fire.”

“Were you in a building?” Ryan prompts because this is a good start. He’s getting details. “Were your clothes on fire?”

“I think . . . I think both.” He nods a little, sure of himself now. “Yeah. There was fire. All around me. It was on my skin. And I just—” He winces, brings free hand to his side. “I remember the pain, and that’s what I remember waking up to.”

“What else can you remember? Was it a small house? A high rise? A warehouse?” He keeps his voice soft, measured, doesn’t want to push the immortal too hard in this direction.

“It was, it was a large house. A—a mansion. I remember seeing this chandelier above me.”

“Was anyone there with you? Can you remember what they looked like? Hair colour? The sound of their voice?” Memories based on senses are often the stronger ones, and he’s hoping he can guide the immortal along the rest of the way.

He nods. “There were two that I can remember. I think. Man and a woman. They were . . . they were pulling on me. Trying to get me out. And then they were gone. I don’t remember where they went.”

“Did you die then?” It would be helpful to know if he woke up somewhere different.

He shakes his head. “I remember being in a vehicle.” He closes his eyes. “Ambulance I think. It was . . . I was in pain. I didn’t know what was happening and then I wasn’t there anymore.”

“Where did you go?”

“I woke up in a box. No, um, the morgue I think. I was cold. Trapped.” He opens his eyes suddenly and breathes out hard. His eyes dart around the room, reminding himself of where he is.

Ryan doesn’t ask him anymore questions at this moment. He lets the immortal collect himself as he begins to dig for morgue reports on a corpse going missing or anything else strange in the area.

He knows how difficult it is to suddenly wake up and not know where you are. Once Ryan had been brought up from the tomb he’d been buried in, he’d discovered over a hundred years had passed. The world is terrifying when decades have slipped by. Mortals live life so fast and sometimes an immortal can’t be bothered to keep up with it all.

“Were you in there long?” Ryan asks, gently, doesn’t want to push him too far.

“I don’t know,” he says, bringing a hand up to his mouth, bites at his nails. “I remember being pulled out. Don’t know by who. Locked up again. Don’t know how long that time. Taken out and injected with something. I think . . . I think I died again. And when I woke up I was with her. Shot by her. Hurt by her thugs. Shot again. I don’t—” He shuts his eyes, tightly this time, drags his hand through his hair and pulls tightly. “It gets fuzzy there and it all just sort of blurs together.”

Dying in rapid succession can hurt an immortal. It’s not just the potential hundreds or—god forbid—the thousands of years that can damage memories, but also the repeated revivals, stretching their bodies thin with each death they took. It makes sense that The immortal would have gaps in his memory. Killed after each fight so he would heal faster, could fight more often. The woman, his handler, exploited his ability to heal after a fatal wound.

“It’s okay,” Ryan says. “I think I get the picture. Thank you for telling me.”

The immortal sniffles and moves to stand. He goes to the nearest window and just looks outside at the view. Ryan thinks he makes a comparable image to a cooped up pet.

He goes back to the task of digging up hospital files and finding the file that matches the immortal’s experience. Eventually the immortal moves away from the window, heads deeper into the apartment to the bedroom to lie on the bed. He’s lethargic, Ryan belatedly realizes. Too much stagnation. He needs to get out and Ryan wants to let him. He does, but it’s too risky to let him out when someone might recognize him and come after him.

His research comes to a pause when he has to wait for his computer to download more files and sort through them with a filtering system. His building does have access to a gym and swimming pool. While he doesn’t want to let the immortal out of the building, letting him exercise might be a good compromise.

When the immortal comes out of the bedroom an hour later, looking like he just had a nap, Ryan brings up the subject. The change in his stance is immediate. He relaxes. He becomes livelier, more awake.

“Really?” he asks. “You’d let me?”

The phrasing strikes Ryan as odd and as guilty. He doesn’t mean to keep The immortal locked up. He justifies it by saying it’s for his safety.

“You’re here to be protected,” Ryan explains. “And until I can ensure that you’re safe, that no one is coming after you, staying close to here is our best bet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t use the facilities here.”

He shows the immortal around shortly after that. Tells him about the facilities of the gym and pool hours. That he can come and go as he pleases without needing Ryan there to ask permission. He emphasizes that he’s free to do this and that it’s his choice. The immortal’s mood improves after that. He smiles a bit, settles more firmly into Ryan’s apartment and seems less like a stranger and more like a roommate.

By the evening, Ryan’s search has finished and he finds a partial report that matches up to the immortal’s experience. It’s the standard morgue report of body condition and cause of death including a photograph of him laid out on the table. Ryan winces. The burns were extensive. It probably would’ve taken him days to recover from that before finally waking in the morgue.

The report calls him ‘John Doe,’ meaning they didn’t get any personal effects off of him. No name. No identity. Just a victim from a fire. They have an attached report from the paramedics who arrived on the scene. They found him alive but unconscious and attempted to bring him to the hospital for surgery.

He died on the way over, went into shock and they couldn’t revive him in time.

From there, Ryan gets a date and place of the incident, which means he needs to get a police report. The Fakes have a solid contact in the Los Santos Police Department. A one Officer Trevor Collins. He works in the records and IT department, never sees street duty, and he can get into any files the Fakes might need. So Ryan calls in a favour, gives Collins the date and place of the incident and will have to wait until he gets a response.

He stays the night, camps out on the couch again. In the morning, he rushes off to the grocery store to get more food and stock the fridge and cupboards just in case he happens to slip and forget he has someone under his care.

“Will you be gone long again?” the immortal asks. He’s sitting at the breakfast bar, watching as Ryan moves around in the kitchen with the food he just brought it.

“Can’t say for sure,” he says. “But feel free to move within the building. Just don’t talk to anyone, okay?”

He nods, looks down at the counter top.

Ryan is firm. He is not cruel. It’s for his safety. _For his own good._

He leaves shortly before lunch, ignoring the guilt that’s creeping up, and begins his day.

He hopes the crew doesn’t become suspicious. He hopes Michael doesn’t snoop around any time soon. Ryan plays off the skirmish at the docks as a freak thing. He heard of a fight and got caught up in something worse. Nothing too big. Only, Ryan didn’t take time to do his homework before he killed the immortal’s handler and her henchmen. Because apparently they were missed. They weren’t just some nobodies who got their hands on an immortal and made him fight for them. They were ringers and made people money, and when people weren’t making money at rigged cage fights, they tended to ask questions.

“Ryan, what’s this about a scuffle down at the docks?” Geoff catches him as soon as he’s through the door of the larger, shared penthouse rented out for crew activities.

“Why do you ask?”

“Michael was saying how you got caught up in something at the docks. And now I’m hearing through the grapevine that Miss Petunia Gladwell—god, that’s an awful pseudonym—and some of her men died. That and a fighter of hers went missing.”

Ryan hopes nothing showed on his face. “And why do we care?”

“Apparently she was a really good ringer. Dig far enough and she acquires some pretty great assets. Most of her clients are abroad, though, so she has people in the crowds place the bets on one of her fighters. Never stays long in the area so no one ever figures out what she’s up to until she’s cleaned out. Her last fighter must’ve been something fierce if she got killed for it.”

Geoff is looking at Ryan now with something in his eye, studying him carefully like he knows. He takes a few steps further. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about this, Ryan?”

“My scuffle was between me and the Ballas,” he says— _lies_.

“Okay,” Geoff says, nods. He leaves it, but that’s not the last of it.

* * *

Detective Collins gets back to him with the police report that matches up to the autopsy of their ‘John Doe.’

“Case is cold,” he says when Ryan arranges a meeting. “Whole string of fires the year this one came up. They never found the guys who did it and nothing’s been done since.”

It’s a thick folder. An ongoing investigation that lasted one hot summer. Ryan sets it aside and pulls out a clip of money to pay Collins for his work.

“Much appreciated.”

Ryan is able to begin his own investigation in earnest. The immortal had been here years ago, around the same time they were forming the Fakes in Liberty City. He was a suspect in the case labelled “Vinewood Arson Ring.” The police had thought it was only one person starting the fires, but they came to understand it was more than just arson. The places had been targeted and robbed first before being burned to the ground. He was pulled from the last fire to close out the summer alive but died in transit. No name. No identity. A John Doe in the morgue. But his body’s disappearance hadn’t been reported. Only marked for cremation and burial in a potter’s field. Clean record keeping if Petunia paid for it all and took home an immortal.

And as he takes notes and reads further into the material, Ryan realizes that this was the arson run that caught their attention when they left Liberty City. This was the exact case. If they had left sooner, would they have crossed paths with these robbers and arsonists? Would they have heard about the immortal and rescued him before he was subjected to a life like this for nearly fifteen years?

It’s a lot to consider, and it only means that there are _other_ people out there, possibly immortals, that know about this immortal and could be of aid to them.

Ryan foolishly leaves his laptop open when he gets to the penthouse a day later, leaving the immortal yet again to find a balance between his two projects. It’s a rather quiet day, so after he’s fixed himself something to eat, he comes back and finds Michael scrutinizing the news articles open on the browser.

“What does a fire from— _god—_ fourteen years ago matter to you?” he asks. “And we weren’t even in town them.”

“Just . . . homework.” He winces.

Michael snorts. “Yeah, homework. ‘Cause Geoff would totally test us on our knowledge of arson in the city.”

“Research then,” he amends. “I want to know if other crew have set up shop here, like what we do. See if we can learn about their tactics. If they’re still around.”

“You’re really taking this whole crew thing seriously.”

“I want this to last and so we don’t get busted on, like, tax evasion.”

“Poor Alcapone.”

“He should’ve seen it coming to be honest.”

Michael looks at the article again and reads over it as Ryan takes a bite out of his sandwich. “So what do you got then?”

“Well, there was a string of arson runs that summer. City was a mess then. The police say they had a group of six suspects, but they didn’t have any identities to go off on. But then there’s this last one up in Vinewood before the group fell off the map. Five confirmed dead. One other was pulled from the fire but died on route to the hospital. It was a pretty bloody end to the summer, and the police had nothing to go on. They had one suspect, but he died, so it was a cold case after that.”

“Do you know what they were going after? Arson but it also says theft here.”

“Well, they think it had to do with the victims’ jobs and the like. The one percent people with more money than God, so it turned out to be something of a Robin Hood situation.”

“That’s pretty sweet. I wonder what those guys are up to now. If they’re fire starters—” Michael grins something wicked “—then we could probably compare notes.”

Ryan nods and is relieved that Michael isn’t probing further. It’s a valid reason. They’ve made it big here as a crew. Now they need to keep their lead and not ruin it.

“You know, we haven’t spent that much time together recently,” Michael says. He sets aside the laptop and Ryan brushes any remaining crumbs from his shirt. “You’re busy with something, heading off to your own place I assume.”

Ryan should’ve expected this—that Michael would chase after him in case something was wrong. But he’s never followed him up to his apartment yet. He’s waiting for Ryan to come clean.

He can’t. Not yet. It’s too dangerous, he rationalizes. What would any of them do if they discovered the immortal, skittish as he already is? Even worse, connect him to the fires from years earlier and grill him about something he doesn’t even remember? And not to mention, his dead handler that people are asking about?

“It’s not anything you should worry about,” he says.

“But I already do,” Michael insists. “You get into a random fight. You start acting reclusive. I just want to know if you’re okay.”

“Michael,” he says, pulling up every ounce of confidence he can muster. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

Michael gets up and moves to stand before Ryan. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and pulls him against Michael’s stomach. Ryan falls forward and sets a hand on Michael’s back.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says gruffly, ruffling Ryan’s hair before stepping away

“I won’t be.” And hopefully that’ll be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the immortal's recovery stumbles and Ryan develops feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going over this chapter for edits made me realize that this one needs its own warning. story tags have been updated to reflect this
> 
> WARNING:
> 
> Mentions of Self Harm

A routine starts to take form whenever Ryan checks in with the immortal. He’ll stay for a night and two days before heading off once more to continue research or work with the crew. The immoral is now always there in the front room to greet him as soon as Ryan gets his keys in the lock. He’ll take to asking Ryan about his day and how he’s doing—starved of any news of life beyond the apartment if Ryan had to guess. But he does whatever he knows the immortal needs of him. He gives him whatever he needs.

If he’s coming in fresh off  a Vagabond run, Ryan’s first instinct is to take a shower and settle down on the couch for the rest of the day. He leaves his gun by the side table next to the door. It’s his standard spot just in case if someone suspicious is beyond the front door. He tosses his jacket haphazardly on the back of the recliner and rubs his eyes.

“Do you need anything?” the immortal asks. “I was just about to start dinner.”

“I just need to wash up a bit. I’m fine. Really.”

The immortal nods and remains where he is until Ryan passes him by.

He splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom. He’ll take a shower tomorrow. Right now he just wants to sit down and decompress. He wonders how the immortal will handle him in this mood. When Ryan is likely to speak less and act more—act rougher, meaner. The last thing he wants is to take out any of his misplaced aggression on the immortal. He doesn’t deserve that.

He pulls out his softest clothing from the bedroom before changing into it. He doesn’t sleep here in the bedroom, keeps his place on the couch so the immortal has a sense of place, of boundary, and what is his. He returns to the kitchen just as the immortal is pulling out the cutting board. Ryan moves to the fridge to retrieve the cool pitcher of water.

“Could you . . . while you’re there.” The immortal still speaks softly around him, like he doesn’t want to anger Ryan. He doesn’t know if this is his default character or if it’s a learned behaviour. Be quiet. Be demure. You’ll be safe.

“Can I get something for you?” Ryan asks as sincerely as he can.

“Yeah, the, uh, pepper in there. And the onion.”

“Sure.” He gets him whatever he needs, lays it out on the counter next to the cutting board for him, just ever so slightly skirting around him gently. The immortal doesn’t pull away. He nods stiffly in thanks, but he’s not pulling away, and Ryan feels like that should be an achievement in itself.

He serves himself some water and relegates himself to the breakfast bar where he can oversee everything and pitch in some help when necessary. The immortal makes careful but deft strokes with the knife. Ryan shouldn’t be surprised that despite his memory he knows his way around the kitchen in a competent manner. He’s been taking care of himself for the past two months now, and Ryan wants to believe that he’s getting better. That he _will_ recover.

“Could I ask a question?” the immortal asks.

Ryan rests his chin on his folded arms. “Mmhm.”

“What is it that you do?” He looks at Ryan curiously with a shy side glance.

“Give me a guess.” He wants to see what the immortal has discovered during his time here, what’s going on in that mind of his.

Colour rises on his cheeks, his expression unreadable. “I want to say criminal. I remember the mask you wore.” And then a slight twitch to his lips.

Ryan smirks. “The mask is, I’ll admit it, a bit much sometimes. But I wanted to have fun when I took up this job.”

The immortal pushes aside the chopped bits of pepper to one side of the board and takes up the onion, begins peeling back some of the outer layers. “Are there others of you?”

“You mean like us?”

“Us?” he asks and then his eyes widen. “Oh.”

Ryan smiles. “Five others. For the main crew anyway. It’s where I go when I’m not here.”

He nods along and slices the onion in half.

“Do you like it here?” He has to know if he’s doing everything he can.

“I do. It’s . . . nice. Better than what I had or was given.”

The smile he gives Ryan is something that twists his stomach into knots. He’s not sure what this feeling is exactly. Admiration, pride, or something else. Something softer and kinder.

“When things have settled down,” Ryan begins but is cut off when he watches the knife slip in the immortal’s hands.

The cut is small, but cuts like these like to bleed. Ryan is already up and moving to wet a cloth and press it his finger. The immortal, however, has gone still, eyes vacant, voice silent. Ryan looks to the cutting board and sees the blood that has dripped there. He decides to get the immortal away from this. “Let’s sit you down in the living room. Get you patched up.”

He guides the immortal with a hand on his elbow and he goes so easily. He sits down, doesn’t say anything, but Ryan doesn’t comment. He’s focused on cleaning up this mess and returning to what they just had—that easy candor between them.

He dares to squeeze the immortal’s forearm in a show of comfort. “I’ll be back. Sit tight.” He heads to the bathroom to dig around for Band-Aids. He belatedly hears movement in the living room, thinks nothing of it.

When he finds the first-aid kit, he startles at the sound of the gunshot and the collapse of a heavy body following soon after. It’s so loud and jarring in the small space of the apartment. A neighbour’s dog in a nearby apartment starts barking. Ryan forgets about the Band-Aids and moves to the living room. His gun, the one he set down after he came in, is on the floor next to the immortal. He shot himself. Straight through the head. There’s gore all over the floor, the rug, the cushions of the couch.

Ryan shuts down and flips the switch to the Vagabond. He has a lot to get through and not that much time, and if he’s going to pull this off, he needs a criminal mindset. Likely a neighbour will call, might come up to the apartment door and knock to see if everything’s okay. If not they’ve already made the call. He needs to plan for that likelihood. First, he takes the immortal, lifts up his limp body, and takes him to the bedroom. He lays him out on the bed, even goes so far as to slip him beneath the covers. Comfortable. Natural. Then he goes for the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink and pulls out rubber gloves, a bottle of general surface cleaner, and a bucket. He knows from past experience that an ETA on the police would be about ten to fifteen minutes. He gets a saucepan, fills it with water and pasta, and sets it on the stove to boil. He then pulls on the rubber gloves and begins cleaning up the gore as fast as he can. It doesn’t take long for the saucepan to boil. The longer it’s left on the heat, the more steam and smoke fills the room until the smoke detector goes off. By the time, he’s finished cleaning the gore to the best of his ability and rolled up the rug and hidden it away, there’s a knock on the door. He dumps the cleaning gear in the bedroom closet before handling the smoke alarm and opens a window.

The knocking at the door is more insistent now. He skids across the floor in his socks to answer it. He’s flushed face, and his hair is in disarray. Hopefully it’ll be a good enough cover. It’s a uniform cop on the other side, no one that Ryan recognizes.

“We got a noise complaint from this apartment, sir,” the uniform says. “Reports of a gunshot.”

“Ah, well, you see—”

The smoke alarm goes off again.

“Cooking,” he says with an embarrassed grin. “Trying to multitask. It doesn’t really work.”

“Go handle that. I have some more questions.”

Ryan nods, closes the door somewhat and rushes off to handle the smoke alarm. He turns off the stove and dumps the saucepan in the sink. He’ll probably just toss the whole thing at the end of the day.

He returns to the door. “You had another question?”

“Comment really. Turn on your range hood when you cook. Or at least open a window. That’s a potential fire hazard you’re dealing with.”

Ryan smiles and nods. “Will do. Thank you, sir.”

“Have a good day now.”

Ryan sees the uniform off and shuts the door. He takes a moment to breathe between his knees before handling the rest of the mess. The immortal is just beginning to stir when Ryan takes the gore bucket out of the closet and dumps it in the tub in the bathroom. He runs the water, hot, and digs out the bleach to give everything a thorough clean, which is what he’ll have to do to the living room _again_ to remove all the microscopic evidence.

After the tub is thoroughly clean, Ryan fills it with warm water, nearing the side of hot. Once filled, he shuts off the tap and goes to the bathroom, feeling bone weary.

“Hey.” He speaks softly, touches his shoulder with hardly any pressure. The immortal stirs, blinks at Ryan with heavy eyes. He makes a sound in his throat, but says nothing. “Let’s get you up. In the bath here, yeah?” The immortal goes but only with Ryan’s assistance. He helps him get out of his clothes and into the warm water. He looks so despondent, like he’s the man Ryan first found in the dog cage.

“Take your time,” Ryan says. “I’ll be in the living room, cleaning up. Holler if you need me, okay?” Then does he get a nod. Some movement at least.

Now for phase two: destroy any evidence.

Bleach is a go-to for most forensic cleanup crews. Of course, they’re using some sort of industrial grade stuff, and Ryan just has the off-the-shelf stuff.

Everything smells of bleach soon after. He opens the windows throughout the apartment. When the living room is finished, he gathers up the bed sheets and pillows cases and dumps everything—his clothes, the immortal’s, and the bedding—into the washing machine. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to salvage anything. But he won’t be able to take anything out to burn until tomorrow at the very least. Dressed only in his briefs, he returns to the bathroom and goes to his knees by the edge of the tub. The immortal is curled up against one side of the tub. He’s hardly moved since Ryan left him.

Ryan sighs. He twists on his knees and reaches under the sink cabinet for an empty plastic container. He returns to the edge of the tub and fills the container with water. He gets the immortal to sit up and tilt his head back so Ryan can start washing his hair. He closes his eyes obediently.

Sometime between having his hair rinsed and the start of the lather, he begins to talk. “I’m sorry.” So they’re back to this then. Pliancy. Submission.

“There’s no need to be. These things . . . happen.” Not in the _traditional_ sense, but it’s all he has. Ryan himself is still reeling from the past hour. “Why did you go for the gun?”

He brings his legs up, circles them with his arms. “I don’t—it felt like I needed to.”

Ryan begins to put the pieces together in his head. The blood. The small cut.

“They forced you to heal after each fight,” he says. “So any time you’re hurt, you expect to . . . die. And when I didn’t kill you, you decided to make things right.”

The immortal moves one hand beneath the water, back and forth. “I guess,” is what he settles on.

Ryan decides to mention nothing further and simply helps him wash the rest of his body and rinse up. He provides a clean and dry towel for him when he steps out of the tub. “Go lie down and rest,” he says. “I’ll finish up dinner.”

The immortal raises his head. “But I can—”

“You’ve done enough. It’s okay. Really.” He smiles, tries to let the immortal know that he’s not upset or angry or harboring any negative emotions towards him. He’s just trying to help, but maybe leaving a handgun out in plain sight for him was a poor choice to make.

Once Ryan’s alone, he closes the door and drains the tub. He scrubs off roughly, gets at his nails and cuticles, leaves no stone unturned. His skin is red by the time he towels off and pads off to the bedroom and change into some clean clothes. He can tell the immortal isn’t sleeping, but at least he’s in bed resting.

When he finally gets back to the kitchen, it’s getting late. The sun is setting. He has some burnt pasta sitting in the sink. There are half cut vegetables left on the island, and the entire apartment smells like bleach. It’s shit is what it is.

* * *

They’ve all experienced moments of intense pain and grief. And when you’re faced with a potential eternity of it, wouldn’t you do anything in your power to make it stop?

When Jack pulled Ryan out of that tomb from the forest of Salem, Ryan hadn’t been sure of who or what he was. Locked away from everything for decades upon decades, he lost every shred of himself. It took a long time and so much patience from Jack that Ryan even made it to where he is today.

She took him to a ranch, far away from any major metropolis, but still involved with the world around it to acclimatize him to this terrifying new future. She’d tell stories of them, of their shared history and how they kept running into each other at convenient times. Just when the other needed them most.

“Because we understand each other in a way that other people just can’t. We don’t feel the passage of time like other people do. For us, it’s unending. It’s just another moment. Until we have someone who can experience it with us. And I’m going to show you that life and death aren’t that terrifying. Not anymore. Not for you.”

He starved to death in that tomb time and time again. Mouth so dry his lips would crack and bleed. Body so thin and skin so ashen. His hair had fallen out in clumps. He was not the man he had been decades prior. And it took years to return him to his former glory, when he could finally recognize himself in the mirror. Say his own name and understand its meaning.

The fear and mystery surrounding immortals makes them seem inhuman. Death is a part of life, so if it can’t die, what is it? Something to be worshipped, feared, studied.

They live long, yes, but they feel pain. They bleed. They can suffer. They’re just like anyone else, so why not use their greatest strength against them?

Death becomes a wish, a dream, a prayer. Anything to stop the pain or the misery. Just to turn it all off for a moment if they can. Death can become addictive.

Somewhere in the 1950s, Michael got bad. He had an extra forty years of life on him at this point, and it began to get too much for him. The reality of the situation set in for him after his parents had died from old age. His siblings beginning to follow, already with their own children, grandchildren in some cases. It set in for him then that eventually he would outlive his family altogether, and that set him into a rampage.

Arson swept across the country in the decades following and culminated with the largest forest fire the country had ever seen in the 1980s, the year when the last of Michael’s direct family had passed. Ryan had kept an eye on him in that time. They hadn’t been close then. Ryan and Gavin had showed him the ropes of how to handle immortality before Gavin was off on his worldly adventures again and Michael set off to start his new life. But Ryan remained in the country, remained on hand and learned of the devastating fires that swept through the east coast, the grasslands, and then a giant national park. And each time, he’d die, Michael said. Needed that intense pain to focus himself, recharge, reset, and wake up with a clear head.

Ryan came to him after Yellowstone, was on the scene when Michael came up from the ash, reborn and whole once more. They retreated to a local motel and washed up, had coffee and donuts from a nearby cafe.

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “I feel like I just need to do it. Like everything will make sense if I just find the right fire and see if that one will kill me next. They never do.” He looked to Ryan then over the lid of his coffee. “How do you do it? Stand it all?”

“Sometimes I can’t,” Ryan said. “Sometimes just the idea of not remembering where I came from, who my family was, is enough to send me stumbling.”

“How do you deal with it now?”

“I found new people, a new family.”

“Immortals? Like you and Gavin?”

He nodded. “And a few others. We keep in touch, and I’m rarely away from one of them for very long. It’s . . . the way we are is unnatural. But so is deciding to be alone. And if you want, you can stay with me. See what it’s like.”

Just how Jack helped him—pass along the favour and help someone else find their way. Pay forward the kindness, but there was something different between Ryan and Michael that Ryan didn’t have with Jack. There was a spark, something that wanted to be nurtured and loved. Coaxed to the surface.

They didn’t so much as love each other at the start but lusted. They brought out the best and worst out of each other at times—the highs and lows. They saw the worst in each other, and the 80s were a rough decade to weather like that together. And as a new immortal, Michael couldn’t handle Ryan like that.

Ryan who had no mercy for anyone or anything. Ryan who’d come up with such cruel ideas and intentions.

_Let the people have something to fear to hate. That’s all we ever are to them._

They gained too much attention and had to part ways, but the feeling was mutual by then. They were self-destructive together, could only handle each other in short bursts. Ryan couldn’t help him in the way that he thought he could. Maybe he wasn’t as good as he once thought. He couldn’t redeem anyone because he hadn’t redeemed himself. He was one of the older ones, if not the oldest. There’s only so much you can remember. Traumatic experiences, the best of the worst, that all stays, often sharp as day. It’s not easy to forget the pain you’ve been through.

Ryan will never forget the moment when Michael looked at him with fear in his eyes, like he didn’t understand what he was seeing in front of him.

Perhaps that’s why he decided to take the immortal home with him. Start over, a clean slate to atone for his mistakes. Prove to himself that he could be the person someone needed and relied upon. Bring someone back from the brink and show that he was trustworthy and _good._

_I am sorry that I couldn’t be what you need, that I let you down. I want to do better._

Or maybe he’s just lonely. And if that’s the case, he’s doing this for the wrong reasons.

* * *

The immortal is left shaken after his sudden death. Ryan is loathe to call it suicide because that wasn’t suicide. Not really. It was a trained response to physical stimuli. But it’s like they’ve taken five steps back in terms of his progress again. He’s suddenly forgetful. The next morning Ryan finds himself reminding the immortal where he is, who _Ryan_ is, and what he’s doing here.

No, you’re not fighting

No, I’m not going to make you fight.

“You’ve been here for two months now,” he explains. “And no one’s come after us since. You’re safe here.”

The immortal nods. “Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine. I can understand. What happened to you . . .  I don’t know what damage it did. Or how permanent it is. But you’re getting better. We’ll just have to be more careful next time.”

Ryan can’t help but treat the immortal like he’s a bomb about to go off, never knowing how long the countdown is until he’s scrambling for Ryan’s gun. He makes it a point not to bring any sort of weapon home. He has a theory that the response is trained for guns, something quick. So he shouldn’t have to worry about any of the knives or household chemicals stored away.

The second time it happens, Ryan is prepared for it. He watches as the immortal shuts down and takes him away to the living room. He bandages the small cut and eases him down onto the couch. He grasps the immortal’s forearms firmly and waits, watches to see what thoughts cross his mind.

The blankness of his face morphs into confusion. He looks from left to right through the room like he’s expecting his handler or one of her goons to finish him off and start new. And then the confusion bleeds away with what Ryan can only say is panic. He pulls against Ryan’s grip, not enough to dislodge him but just to test.

“You’re safe,” he says. “No one is here to kill you.”

He catches sight of the Band-Aid, just there around his finger, and tries in earnest to pull his hand back, cradle it against his chest. He makes a wounded sound deep in his throat, and Ryan’s heart clenches at the sound.

“You’re okay. You’re not with them anymore. They will never hurt you again.” He doesn’t know if any of his words are getting through to the immortal. But he starts to put up a fight. He’s not looking at Ryan. It’s like he’s not even here. But he’s looking for something, for the gun that Ryan left behind in the trunk of his car.

Ryan doesn’t want to hurt him, but he’s not going to let him go. He keeps the immortal rooted to the couch. He moves his hands from holding his forearms to his biceps and more or less pulls the immortal towards him. “Here we go,” he says. He leans back against the couch, brings the immortal down with him until Ryan can secure him safely within the cage of his arms.

They end up with the immortal on Ryan’s chest, laid out on the couch together. The immortal gasps and struggles. He fights against Ryan because Ryan isn’t playing the game right. He’s not doing the right thing and that must be so frustrating and confusing for him right now. But what gets Ryan the most is that he’s not saying anything. It’s like he’s forgotten how to speak when he’s like this.

He holds him and doesn’t give, doesn’t budge an inch. It’s a long agonizing wait until the immortal gives up his fight. He breathes out softly through his nose, but makes no move to leave Ryan’s arms. Even Ryan doesn’t want to let him go.

He remembers how he found him. In that cage. It must’ve been easier to handle him like that all bundled up. He wonders if the confined space is a source of comfort for him. The place where he’d come back to himself and start fresh.

It’s so fucked up, but if it provides him with something, with what he needs, then Ryan is willing to give it to him.

“You’re not going to kill me,” the immortal says, his first words in over an hour.

“No, I’m not.”

The immortal mutters the words a few times, assuring himself of their truth.

“Thank you.”

“It’s . . . it’s no problem. You deserve it.”

* * *

The immortal begins to improve once more. He starts to talk again, lengthy conversations he has whenever Ryan is around. Since being shown the apartment’s gym, he’s been adding a lengthy exercise regimen to his day, and that seems to help stem the tide of restlessness. On his better days, Ryan asks more questions about what happened before he was forced to become a cage fighter, tries to plug all the pieces together and probe his memory for more. He shows him the police and morgue reports, tries to see if that jogs anything.

“This is . . . me,” he says after a long time of looking at the photos of his own body.

“August 22nd, 2005,” Ryan says. “Police were called to the scene just as a blaze broke out and came to the scene ten minutes later. By then the house had been engulfed in flame. When authorities arrived, a private security firm was already on the scene trying to pull out their own guys, five of which died. One other survived and you, too, were pulled from the fire. He made it. You didn’t. And then you wake up in the morgue.”

The immortal nods, looking down at the photos of the crime scenes next. They include lists and visuals of the stolen items before the houses were largely burned to the ground. Priceless artifacts. Some paintings. Jewelry. These were _rich_ households after all. They had plenty of things to spare.

“Did they have any suspects? Other than me? Because while I don’t remember everything, I doubt I could do something like this all on my own.”

Ryan nods and brings his attention to the next report. “Sketchy security footage photos. Six others including you. Four or five men and one or two women, just basing things off of a height perspective. They had no identities or physical markers for any of them, so it was a pretty professional group. I haven’t been able to find anything about them, not since that last fire. It’s like they just dropped off the map.”

The immortal looks through the folders most of that afternoon, but nothing new comes of it. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to remember anything any time soon, and Ryan understands. There are patches in his own memory, particularly from Salem after being locked away in the ground for so long. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get them back. He doesn’t know if he even wants them.

It takes days for Ryan to realize that he’s at a dead end in terms of his own research. With no names or any physical descriptions to go off on, he has nothing further he can offer, so he has to put the case file away and let the matter rest for now.

The immortal is getting better. He becomes more relaxed as time passes, going in between the apartment gym and the room as a steady routine he builds up. He starts to gain his own sense of personality, making snide comments at Ryan’s expense when he’s feeling comfortable in his presence. It’s the start of something that Ryan is proud to see.

It comes to Ryan that perhaps they should give him a name, something he can go by until he remembers his own (if that’s within the realm of possibility).

“What kind of name would you like to go by?” he asks.

The immortal is sat at the breakfast bar, watching as Ryan putters his way around the kitchen. He gives the question some thought. “I don’t really know. They didn’t call me by much. Just the Kid if they had to say anything at all.”

“Let’s find one that speaks to you then. I’ll admit, though. I’m not that great with names.”

He perks up. “Oh, yeah? How so?”

“Had a dog named Edgar once,” he says, sees the immortal smiling at him.

“That’s, uh, unusual. Not too bad.”

“And then I had a second dog named Reggie.”

He laughs. “Okay. I think I see where you’re coming from here.”

“You shouldn’t leave that in my hands. I’d screw it up.”

He serves up two plates and they eat in silence before the immortal speaks up. “I think . . . call me Adam. I don’t know why, but it makes sense to me.”

“Adam. How very biblical of you.”

He shrugs, suddenly turning shy. “Gotta start somewhere I guess.”

* * *

_Adam._

It fits him somehow. A nice, simple name.

_Adam._

It’s easier to think of him as his own person now—like he’s stitching his fractured mind back together one piece at a time. He’s growing, changing. His own personality is starting to show tenfold.

He can be very deadpanned and awkward, like he feels too big for his body, out of place sometimes. Usually in the early morning when he’s just woken up or he’s just about to go to bed. Everything is spoken in a monotone. He’s slow to warm up whenever Ryan catches him in one of these moods.

But after he’s warmed up, when he’s feeling confident, feeling good about himself, he’s chatty. He’s willing to respond to Ryan. Asks about his day. Wants to know what’s going on in his life. It’s also his only tenuous connection to the outside world, and Ryan can hardly begrudge him that.

Over time, Adam grows more comfortable. He’s settled in. He considers this place his home. So Ryan notices that Adam begins to do certain things. Such as slipping out of the shower to the bedroom wearing just a towel around his hips, inviting Ryan to go to the gym if he’s staying for the night or two, skirting around him with just a touch. Ryan notices these things. He does. But he takes little care and concern with how he reacts to it all.

Ryan’s invested in a TV and gaming console, so that Adam can have some form of entertainment. Sometimes they just sit down in front of it and watch some mindless TV, trying to catch Adam up on all that he’s missed. Or maybe Ryan comes in from an exhausting day from the crew and needs to recharge. He’ll sit down on the couch, sink into the plush cushions, and fall asleep without even knowing it. And when he wakes a moment later, Adam is already sitting there, maybe biting his nails which is a nervous habit he has, or tucking his legs up underneath him.

He’s interesting to think about, in Ryan’s opinion. He’s so soft under all these layers. This, Ryan, thinks, is Adam’s default character. Or at least the persona he shows when he’s feeling safe and comfortable. Like now. When he sits next to Ryan and shares the same space with him. When he leans into Ryan and seems like he’s asking for more.

For more _what_ though?

Ryan begins spend more time here. The crew is suspicious enough, but they haven’t stepped over the boundary yet. They’re waiting on him to make the next move and come clean. He’s just not sure what that move should be.

(But it’s probably not this.)

When Adam leans into him one night, Ryan does the only logical thing in his mind and kisses him. It’s what Adam was leaning in for, right? He read that right?

He did, because Adam kisses him back. It’s clumsy at first, like Adam doesn’t remember how to kiss, and it frustrates him. Ryan shushes him, pulls apart. “Take it slow. There’s no rush.” He leans in with one hand on the side of Adam’s neck to hold him in place. _Trust me. I’ll give you what you want._

* * *

What does want even mean now?

He can have everything and anything he wants. He doesn’t need to wait. He doesn’t need to fear. Wants are meaningless

So instead he has to ask what does he need? And that’s a harder question to answer.

Does he _need_ Adam? Does he _need_ to kiss like he’s consuming him? Does he _need_ to believe this is right for Adam? Who doesn’t remember most of his long lived life. Who’s only known Ryan’s kindness since he was freed from the fighting ring. Something doesn’t sit right here, but Ryan can’t get it in him to care or consider the potential ramifications of his actions.

He sees this as his need. To give Adam what he so clearly needs himself.

It’s not a want. _It isn’t._

* * *

They kiss and kiss and never stop. The days simply bleed together. They spend time getting to know another—physically, intimately. Adam is reconnecting with his body, his own sense of autonomy. Ryan keeps asking about him, checking in with him while they remain on the couch.

“Not too fast?”

A shake of the head. “No. Not enough.”

So Ryan gives him what he desires. And what he desires is to feel loved and accepted and cared for. That Ryan would never hurt him or make him fight. That Ryan would be good for him.

Adam is sweet and tender. He likes to hold himself tall and tough, but Ryan has seen how soft he is, how low he’ll drop his guard for a moment of affection and kindness. He’s so very receptive to positive emotions coming from Ryan, feeling like he’s doing a good job warranted of praise.

In a moment of confidence, Adam rises up on the couch to his knees, sliding into Ryan’s lap, hands on his shoulders as he kisses him more deeply. He desires so much more and Ryan is willing to give him everything.

Then a thought comes up unbidden to Ryan’s mind.

_You know this isn’t healthy._

He nips at Adam’s lower lip just to get a reaction out of him.

_He doesn’t remember anything. You could be hurting him._

“Bedroom?” he breathes out and Adam nods hastily, hands trembling where they’re grabbing onto Ryan’s shirt.

_You’re using him to feel like the saviour you desperately want to be._

They stumble down to the hallway and onto the bed. Ryan lets Adam dictate what he wants, lying back so Adam can fiddle with the hem of his shirt and pull it up. Ryan pulls it off and tosses it aside, lets Adam run his hands over his torso with an expression that Ryan can’t place. Like he’s still trying to piece this all together, what it means to intimate, the complicated feelings that comes with it all. But he pushes himself forward, bends over Ryan and kisses him again.

_You gave him incentives to act like this. You’re the only person in his life. Of course he would become attached to you._

Ryan sets his hands on Adam’s hips, slips his thumbs beneath the waist of Adam’s jeans. Adam rolls into his touch. He straightens his posture and unbuttons his pants. Ryan moves his hand to cup him through his briefs. Adam presses into him, sighs softly.

_You’re doing more harm than good. You will ruin him just as the others did._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the self harm warning comes with a caveat here. in adam's case it's not exactly self harm but a trained response and with michael's case in the exposition, it gets a bit muddled when you're immortal, but it's still safe to say that this chapter gets a bit heavier in the consequences of being immortal and what that might do to someone's psyche


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a stranger comes to town looking to collect a cage fighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we made it to the half way point!!! and finally....
> 
>  
> 
> we have the smut

In the wake of Petunia Gladwell’s death (the ringer as she was commonly referred as), several crime bosses came to the city in the coming weeks. When Geoff said she was a ringer, he wasn’t kidding. She had stakes in a lot of rings across the country and a few tenuous connections abroad. Not only did she have a prize fighter, but she was a counterfeiter as well. While her fighter was in the ring, she’d establish contact in the cities she was at and gather the necessary information needed to forge documents specific in that area. Because she was always on the move, it made it easy for her to work. But now that she was gone, people were coming in to collect what they felt they were owed.

Now, since it’s widely known—by the criminals anyway—that Geoff is the king of the city, it’s only common courtesy that Geoff welcomes them in to keep the peace. These people are strangers in his city and he wants them all to know what the rules are.

And while most of them are being reasonable, there is one that stands out. His name is Shadles. He dresses in all black—silk, black button down with a black blazer. He wears sunglasses upon being shown into Geoff’s office, and Geoff is struck by the feeling that he’s meeting one royal douche. Once he’s taken his seat and pushed up his sunglasses, he smiles at Geoff like they’re friends, have known each other for too long, and Geoff knows he’s not going to like this.

They trade niceties, play nice, and then Shadles comes up with his big ask.

“Now,” he says, using his hands to gesture like this is some grand unveiling. “As you may have heard, Petunia had a cage fighter. She had a lucrative deal with many people, including me where she’d fix games with her fighter, you see.”

“Mmhm.” The conversation has been pretty one sided up until this point, and Geoff is just waiting to see how it’ll all play out.

“She’d make a killing. She’s start out by playing her fighter as the underdog, and if she stayed in an area long enough, everyone would bet to win on her and it worked. But it’s come to my attention that while Petunia and her men were killed, her fighter made it out, correct?”

Geoff has to respond to that, so he nods. “Yes, to my knowledge.”

“Well, you see, Ramsey, I was hoping you could help me find the fighter.”

“Why?”

“To put it simply, I was Petunia’s business partner. We worked alongside each other quite a lot, and in the event of her death, I’d receive her assets. And since I’m here to collect, I’m out one cage fighter.”

“I wouldn’t know where he is,” Geoff says. “But you’re welcome to look around. Just don’t make a mess and we shouldn’t have a problem.”

Shadles grins, all white teeth. It unsettles Geoff for a moment, but they make good. They shake hands to solidify the deal, and then Shadles is heading back out the door to do whatever it is he needs to. But Geoff has a feeling he’s going to cause a lot more trouble than he says he will.

* * *

Adam and Ryan spend a lot of time getting to know each other. It can be easy to forget something more important than what they have between them is going on outside the apartment walls.

Adam likes to touch, can’t stop touching Ryan. He runs his hands through his hair, over his shoulders, down his bare chest, and over his legs. He’ll do this quietly, almost reverently. Like he’s reconnecting with his own body and that which surrounds him. Ryan gives him all the time he needs. He appreciates the tenderness.

It’s been so long since he’s been with anyone like this. The last time he and Michael attempted something was in the 90s when they reconnected briefly and, well, that didn’t last long. The sex was good—the physical connection always was; there was nothing wrong about that. It was the _everything_ else around the sex. Were they really good for each other, or were they simply too self-destructive to make something last? It always seemed like they’d end up at each other’s throats by the end of it. Or it was _all sizzle and no steak._ They could never find a balance and would always part ways.

But with Adam—there’s just something about him that Ryan wants to hold close and keep forever. It’s this sense of innocence that bleeds from him. Looking at everything with a starry eyed gaze.

They’re in bed, Ryan on his back and Adam straddling his waist. They’re both down to their briefs, hard and aching, rocking against each other, but they’re making it last, making it special. They’ve just been touching for the longest time, and Ryan lets it go at his pace because Adam is still so delicate yet. He doesn’t want to ruin him.

Ryan sits up gently, displacing Adam further down on his thighs until he’s perched just so. With his hands on Adam’s hips, he leans in and kisses him. His hands slide, one to Adam’s back and the other to his groin. He feels him buck up into his palm.

“More?” Ryan asks and Adam nods, skimming his lips just over Ryan’s.

Ryan rolls them both over gently until Adam’s lying out on his back. He’s mindful of what might set Adam—keeping his hands free, refraining from pinning them down, always letting him see where Ryan is and what he’s doing.

He starts with Adam’s throat and leaves wet traces of kisses along the strong column of his neck. He raises his hands above his head, letting Ryan touch and skim across his chest. He shivers beneath his teach. Sensitive where his skin stretches over his ribs, nipples pebbled and stiff where Ryan comes to seal his lips around them.

He makes such soft sounds, always from the back of his throat, sealed off behind his lips. When Ryan blows gently against his wet nipples, his mouth opens in a gasp, silent as ever. And it riles up Ryan even further. He wants to wrench sounds from him that Adam’s never made. He wants to hear him moan and gasp, wants him begging and pleading for Ryan’s touch.

He gets between Adam’s legs and palms his dick beneath the fabric of his briefs. Finds the head of his dick and concentrates his attention on that point. He doesn’t do much more than rub him slowly, doesn’t pull back the band of the briefs until Adam is squirming beneath him.

“Please,” he says. It’s the first word Ryan’s gotten out of him since they stumbled in here.

“More?” Ryan asks, and Adam flexes his legs, closing in before remembering to relax them against the bed.

_“Please,_ ” he says, in a breathy whisper.

Ryan begins to tug down his briefs but only just so that he can take out his cock, precum at the tip. He wastes no time in wrapping his lips around it and laving his tongue at the slit. Adam’s groan sound punched out of him, coming from the cut as he arches up. But Ryan keeps a firm hold on his hips and settles him back down onto the bed.

He takes Adam’s cock further into his mouth, making it wet and sloppy, and the sounds are so lewd. Adam whines, deep in his throat, arms over his head to hide himself from it all. Ryan sets his hand at the base of his cock and begins stroking what he can’t take in his mouth.

_“F-fuck. Ryan.”_

He sets an irregular pace, always keeping Adam on the edge, keep him from floating away. He sucks hard on the tip, and Adam digs his heels into the mattress.

He pulls off and asks, “More?”

He gives Adam a moment to catch his breath. And when he nods, Ryan gives him no further pause. He takes him deep into his mouth, one hand holding the base of his cock, and the other feeling over Adam’s sensitive thighs, at the gap between his inner thigh and hip. He arches his back, and that’s the only warning Ryan gets to pull off and stroke Adam through his orgasm, work him through until he’s shaking and pushing back at Ryan with his legs.

Adam goes lax against the sheets, stretching out his legs once Ryan has released his softening cock. Ryan peppers soft kisses to his thighs, earning soft noises in return.

Then he breathes in stiffly and raises his head a bit. He tugs at Ryan’s shoulders and pulls him up so they can kiss.

“That was good,” he says and Ryan smiles against his lips. “I’m glad.”

When they part, Ryan lets Adam touch him. He’s still hard in his briefs, but he wanted this to be for Adam. Give him pleasure in ways that he might not remember.

“There’ll be time for that later,” he says, kissing Adam’s temple. “You can repay the favour some other time.”

They shower together in the morning and before Ryan can even grab for the soap, Adam is there cupping his face under the spray and kissing him. He backs Adam up against the wall and returns the kiss. They begin to rut against each other. Adam, emboldened by this, slides his hands down against Ryan’s back onto his ass and pulls him forward until he’s able to grind against Adam’s hip. He lets his head fall against Adam’s shoulder, Adam encouraging him, whispering to _use_ him. To get off on him.

_“Please. You look so good. Feel so good. Yes, Ryan.”_

It’s all so very new but a welcomed change. Adam is such much more _alive_ now than when he first came here. He’s taking control of his body and doing what feels good and natural to him.

They work their way up to having sex. Build to it so any of Adam’s remaining doubts melt away. He holds himself so differently now. Shoulders relaxed rather than hunched. He looks Ryan in the eyes when he speaks, and now Ryan can make out the tender shade of brown his eyes are, the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

When it does happen, when Ryan’s worked his way between Adam’s legs, prepped him, kissed him, encouraged him, Adam keeps his eyes on Ryan, gasping lightly when Ryan’s deep seated inside of him.

_“Oh.”_

His breathy whispers are eaten up when Ryan presses their lips together. He makes their first time as sweet as he believes Adam deserves. He goes slow, makes it last until Adam begins to drift away from him, blissed out beyond all reckoning.

And when he holds him at night after the fact, the weight of Adam upon his chest and between his legs just feels right. Like this is the piece he’s been missing all along. And it honestly couldn’t be better than it already is.

* * *

 

Across the city floats a rumor. The Vagabond is known to most, be it LSPD, journalists, or over excited groupies. It’s not hard to miss a man wearing a black skull mask, one that rarely speaks and has been conflated as an omen of death. Depending on who you spoke to, that is. Some crowds considered him a cheesy gimmick—a deadly gimmick, but still cheesy.

So the rumor starts like this:

_“I heard the Vagabond’s been skulking around the docks a while back. Near where that ringer died. Can’t be a coincidence can it?”_

And from there it grows. Yes, the Vagabond was seen in that area, but no one saw the crime occur and lived to tell the tale. All they got is circumstantial evidence at best, but play the game of telephone long enough and anything improbable can suddenly become possible.

Pieces are put together. Claims are made. And the Fakes are investigated for their role within the city.

Kings and queens and royalty of this city. Have been since the mid-2000s. Men and women and everyone in between that just can’t _quit._ It’s more than just assuming the Vagabond to be the modern omen of death. It’s so much more than that at this point.

See, Shadles has a hunch. He knows what the cage fighter is. Has been privy to the secret for _years_ and knows how valuable he is to people like himself. And maybe, just maybe, the Fakes are more than they seem. Because people like them don’t earn that amount of prestige without something greasing the wheels. And it’s more than just money at this point.

But he knows of their power and strength, building out their network to understand their weak points. He makes the calls for his own reinforcements to flood the city. First, the cage fighter. He’s not dumb enough to bite off more than he can chew.

* * *

Ryan is standing at the stove top, frying up some omelettes as Adam uses the shower. It’s a slow morning for them, and he hasn’t checked his phone in a few days. If there were an emergency, the crew would call and not stop. But there’s nothing. No news from anyone, so Ryan takes this time to his advantage and stay with Adam.

He feels lips at the back of his neck, having missed Adam’s quiet approach. He smiles as Adam wraps his arms around him.

“You were out of bed before I woke up,” he says.

“Someone has to feed the both of us. And I don’t see you stepping up to the plate.”

“Just because I cut my finger that _one time_ —”

He’s joking and Ryan knows it. He’s been better recently, hasn’t dodged for any weapons in weeks, and Ryan hopes they’re past the midway point with his recovery.

Adam parts from him and moves to the cupboards to pull down matching mugs for the coffee. He hisses suddenly and Ryan turns to look at him. He’s set the mugs down, leaning his hip against the counter and has one leg balanced over the other. Ryan turns the heat off on the stove and goes to look. There’s a spot of blood welling up from a small puncture on Adam’s foot, a small piece of glass that must’ve been missed.

“It’s okay,” Ryan says gently, because this is a test. He gets Adam to jump up and sit on the counter as Ryan goes through the motions of wiping down the puncture and patching it up with a simple Band-Aid.

“There,” he says. “All done. Nothing to worry about.” He smiles at Adam, kisses him on the forehead.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m fine.”

And once the moment has passed, when Adam’s found his smiles again, life resumes. They eat breakfast. They clean up together, and the peace is only shattered when Ryan’s phone rings.

“Hello?”

_“Yeah, we got an emergency here.”_ Michael.

“What is it?”

_“Does the fact that I just stumbled onto a safe house of a crew I don’t recognize and am now in a shootout qualify as an emergency?”_

“What?”

_“Yeah. Just get here. I’m down by Belmont and Queen.”_

“Yeah, okay. See you in fifteen.”

He sighs and moves to the bedroom to get changed in his standard pair of blue jeans, black t-shirt, leather jacket, and he’ll suit up with the mask in the car. He needs to move now.

“Work?” Adam asks as he bustles back through the kitchen to the front door.

“Yeah,” he says, shoving on his shoes and lacing them up. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Adam shrugs. “It’s okay. I can’t expect you to stay here forever.”

Ryan straightens and reaches out with both hands. Adam moves forward and grabs his hands. He wishes he could take Adam with him. He really does. He wants to share his life with him rather than separating it like this. Like for some reason he can’t trust the crew with this secret of his.

“I’ll be back,” Ryan promises. “Stay safe.”

Adam nods and finally lets him slip out of the apartment.

When he gets to Michael’s position, Ryan can see he wasn’t lying. He’s got in the cross hairs of  a nasty fight in a part of the city that he _thought_ had been clear. That was still fair game. So how did all these people with all these resources suddenly get here over night?

He gets to Michael’s cover position and crouches down. “Need a hand?”

“About time you showed up. We need to make a break before the cops show up.”

“Right, well, just let the Vagabond get to work and we’ll get out of here by lunch.”

Michael squints up at him. “That mask gives you _way_ too much douche power.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?”

The mask is enough to make anyone pause because it’s iconic. Its status precedes itself and that’s how Ryan is able to make quick work of these thugs, these people and give him and Michael the opening they need to make their escape.

Michael’s car had been shot to hell as soon as he drove through the neighbourhood. Like they were waiting for him, so they escape with Ryan’s car and lose any pursuers in the twisting, winding roads of the older parts of Los Santos.

“So an ambush then?” Ryan asks because it’s the only answer that makes sense.

“I guess, but who’d dumb enough to do that? No crew worth their salt would do something like this. In broad fucking daylight no less.”

“I don’t think this is the work of a crew. At least, not one we’re familiar with.”

Michael sighs and pulls out his phone. “Geoff is not going to be happy about this.”

When they relay the details to the rest of the crew—all just as shocked as they are—Geoff is just as stumped as they are.

“I don’t know where these guys might’ve come from. They must’ve been following you then. Waiting until you were in a quiet part of town to strike.”

“Well, yeah,” Michael says. “I can figure that. We just have no idea who did this. Who put the call out.”

“There’s nothing on any of the channels,” Jeremy says. “No warrants for Michael or any bounties or ads taken out against him. Gavin and I already checked.”

“Cause I’m clean as a fucking whistle. So what fuck decided to take a shot at me?”

“Or it could be a test,” Jack says. “To see how we react. Who we call in, who we rely on, what our strategies are.”

“Yeah, but why?” Geoff asks. “Is it just a simple takeover?”

That no one could answer. It’s too much speculation at this point, and they don’t have all the answers.

The crew knows of a dead ringer named Petunia, a missing cage fighter, and that a man named Shadles has come to town to collect poor Petunia’s assets. Too bad they don’t know about the amnesiac immortal named Adam currently living in Ryan’s apartment. Otherwise they’d be able to solve this puzzle rather quickly and spare themselves the heartache.

But Ryan is and probably always will be a selfish man. And selfish men rarely see beyond their own personal problems.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan's fantasy crashes into his reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are happening
> 
> they are happening and they are moving
> 
> where are they going?  
> no one knows  
> how will they get there?  
> also a mystery
> 
> but all we know is that they're *moving*

“Right,” Geoff says, clapping his hands together for emphasis as he stands at the front of the board room, attempting to command attention of the room even though Gavin, at this point and time, is doing most of the work. “So Michael gets shot up by a crew we don’t recognize. We’ve got a dead ringer who has a business partner looking into her death. And now we’re starting to hear shit that Ryan—oh, sorry— _the Vagabond_ was seen in the area.”

Ryan is given several glances. He knows they’ve all heard. The game of telephone continued unhampered. Rumors, distorted and vague, get back to Ryan that someone’s looking into the disappearance of a certain cage fighter and that apparently he’s trying to lay low somewhere in the neighbourhood. It’s enough to make Ryan worry because somewhere, someone in his building started talking about the new man in his apartment. Someone who keeps to themselves almost too much. It’s suspicious. Of course people would talk about it.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks. He needs to be careful with this because as the pieces come out, it starts to stack against him.

“The truth for starters,” Jack says. “We can’t help you if we don’t know everything.”

“Since when do I need the help?” He’s not trying to come off as too defensive. But he wonders if this is going too far—or if it already has. He sighs. “Yes, I was at the docks, but I was trying to see what assets were out there.”

“But why?” Gavin asks, not looking up from his myriad of technology. “The docks are a free zone.”

“Then how did we miss a ringer when she came in?” he asks. “If she was doing business there, then she knew it was a safe zone for her to do her work and not be seen by us.” It’s a valid concern that he’s trying to pass off. The beginnings of a takeover right under their noses.

“And did you do anything while you were looking into her?”

_Yes._

“No. I didn’t have much time before she got _got._ ”

“So then we’re back to the one person who probably has all the pieces. Who just so happens to be missing,” Jeremy says.

“Have any of you see the cage fighter?” Geoff asks, pointedly looking at Michael, Jeremy, and Ryan.

“We saw him fight,” Michael says. “Two times at least. Ryan saw the third fight.”

“So you’d be able to recognize him?”

They nod.

Geoff holds up one finger, closes his eyes like he’s assembling a puzzle in his head. “So . . . so then we should—”

“We should keep an eye out for the cage fighter, but he’s not our top priority,” Jack says. “We need to suspect that the people who attacked Michael are outsiders brought in as a muscle by one of the bosses who came here to investigate Petunia’s death. They’re looking for answers and they’re doing whatever it takes to get them.”

“But then why try and kill me?” Michael asks. “They didn’t look like they were going to take me alive.”

“It was a test,” she says. “To see how’d you react. And maybe to test a theory.”

They all look up to her.

“I’m just saying it’s a possibility they know more than they’re letting on.”

“Like?” Geoff probes.

“Like how we don’t quit. We all know what the others say about us. If they killed you, they’d probably take you to see what would happen.”

Ryan feels himself flush and freeze simultaneously. Do those people know? If they know about Adam as this Shadles person might, then how far are they willing to go to test their theories? What do they actually know?

“That’s an extreme take,” Jeremy says, trying to cut the tension.

“But it’s a possibility we need to take seriously. So if anyone is going out to do their own thing, they need to pass it by the crew first, got it?” Jack is stern in her position. She’s usually the one to take charge when things get difficult.

Ryan’s phone begins buzzing against the table. Officer Collins’s ID flashes up on the screen. He wouldn’t call if it weren’t an emergency.

He stands and moves to the side of the room. “Hello?”

_“A call was put out to your place.”_

“Which one?”

_“The apartment. Which place do you think I’m talking about?”_

“What was the call for?”

_“Sounds of a fight. You might want to get there now if you have any guests.”_

“Got it.” He ends the call and turns to the room. Of course, they heard all of that. “A break in’s been reported at my apartment. I need to go check out what happened.”

“Need one of us to go with you?” Michael asks, already bracing himself on his seat to jump to his feet if needed.

“No, no. This shouldn’t take long. It’s probably just talking to the cops and seeing what was stolen.” He's trying to keep calm, but inside he knows if Adam's hurt, if he can't get this under control . . . No. He can't think like that.

“Told you you shouldn’t have moved there,” Gavin says.

“Gavin, most of my neighbours are in their fifties. What could they possibly want from me?”

“Retirement nest egg.”

“Whatever’s in your panty drawer.”

“Geoff, _no._ ”

* * *

He hustles out and speeds down the streets to his apartment. He arrives in less than ten minutes, giving him little less than five to get out of here before some heavily armed police officers storm their way up to his door.

When he gets to the apartment, he finds the door kicked in, the frame cracked. Inside he finds blood and two bodies. Adam’s nowhere to be seen. He treads in further, rushing over the carnage without giving it a second thought. He finds Adam in the bathroom, curled up in the bathtub and shaking. He’s hurt, bleeding, no doubt struggling to not just give in to what his body is demanding of him.

“Adam,” he says, harshly, stepping up to the tub and hauling Adam up roughly by the arm. He has no time to be nice. “We need to go.”

Adam stumbles after him and remains quiet. They have no time to grab anything in the apartment, but it’s not like Ryan’s that sloppy to leave anything personal behind. Not in this life.

They head down the far stairwell, out of the way of anyone specific or official looking. They get to Ryan’s car, and Ryan unceremoniously shoves Adam into the passenger’s seat before getting into the driver’s seat and taking off down the road. He keeps a close eye on his rear view mirror for sight of anyone tailing him. He’ll have to lie low, get out of town for the night and see what the damage is in the morning.

“What happened?” he asks. It comes out sharper than he intended, but he’s never been soft in the heat of the moment.

Adam stammers and stutters. His voice has gone up in pitch. “I don’t . . . they just came in. They, they had gun. I couldn’t—Ryan, _please,_ I don’t—” He tries grasping for Ryan’s arm, seeking comfort, but Ryan is too worked up to be what Adam needs, so he shakes him off.

“We’re getting out of here. Just for a little while until—until I figure this thing out.”

If Ryan were thinking logically—which he isn’t—he’d call someone in the crew, message the group chat or something, and explain the situation. How he rescued an immortal from a cage fighting circle and is now being hunted because of it. That he doesn’t know what he’s doing and is fucking everything up because of it. That he’s acting in his own self-interest because he can fix this on his own. He can fix it and it will all be fine. He won’t feel like he’s useless. Like he’s dragging everyone down because he’s still a broken mess that’s missing some of the pieces.

The motel has a vacancy sign lit when they approach it. Ryan tells Adam to stay in the car. Walking in with a bloody nose would only arouse suspicion. He heads to the front desk and asks for a room for two people.

“One bed or two?” he’s asked.

“One,” he says because he doesn’t think he’ll be sleeping tonight. He pays in cash because he always has a stash in his car for moments like these. He’s told when he needs to be out since he’s only staying for one night, that they do offer a continental breakfast, and where the ice machine is. Because of course this is still the 1980s and ice machines are important to keep track of.

He takes his key and heads back out to the car. He opens the passenger’s side door for Adam and takes him out with a firm hand on his arm. They don’t talk. They get to the room, and Ryan shuts the curtains.

“Clean yourself up,” he says, gesturing off to the bathroom. Adam heads straight for it much like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs.

He hears the water in the sink begin to run as he takes a seat on the bed. He pulls out his phone and pulls up Michael’s number. It takes two rings for him to pick up.

_“What is it?”_

“It wasn’t just a break in. My apartment was raided. Two people. Don’t know who they’re associated with, but they must’ve come in with one of the crime bosses.”

_“Why would they come to your place? Are you okay? Where are you now?”_

He smiles at the sound of concern from Michael. “I’m fine. I’m laying low for the night. I’m thinking someone must’ve seen me at the last fight that cage fighter had.”

_“Well, it fits with what we got right now. Cops are probably crawling all over your place.”_

“Yeah. Yeah they are.” He hears the water stop running. He runs a hand over his neck and knows— _knows_ he needs to say something. “Michael, I, uh, I have something to tell you.”

For a moment, Michael is silent.

 _“What is it?”_ It’s said in the same manner he’d usually give to Gavin when he’s doing some irresponsible. And he knows the tone will change when he comes out with it.

“I have the cage fighter. The one Shadles is looking for.”

Michael sighs. _“Ryan—”_

“He’s immortal.” He spares a look over his shoulder and sees Adam hovering at the doorway, looking at the threadbare carpet. “The ringer got a hold on one and I started looking into it. Put some pieces together and pulled him out.”

_“And what? He’s been living with you ever since? Ryan, that was months ago. How long did you plan on keeping this from us?”_

“I don’t . . . I was still figuring things out.”

_“Yeah, well, when it comes to an immortal, I think you’d actually have your head on your fucking shoulders for once to deal with something like this.”_

Okay. Okay, that’s deserved. It hurts, but it’s deserved.

Michael sighs heavily on the other end. _“What motel are you at?”_

He gives him the name.

_“All right. Just sit tight. I’m going to get Geoff and Jack caught up on this mess. Just lie low until I get there.”_

Michael ends the call abruptly, but he’s never been good at goodbyes. The words really. The sentiment is always there, but sometimes Ryan needs to hear it in plain English to know that he hasn’t screwed everything up.

He has a feeling he has this time around.

* * *

Adam, with his bare feet, sits up on the bed, huddled against the headboard while Ryan paces and periodically looks out the window. He’s attempted three times to speak up, but Ryan shuts him down each time.

“Will we go back home?”

At that Ryan has to look away from the curtains and back at him. He looks so vulnerable there. It makes Ryan briefly forget that he’s an immortal—that he’s probably lived centuries already, seen so much death, and yet here he is looking so innocent. Like has no idea what’s going on.

_Will we go back home?_

He had a sense of home. _Jesus._ Ryan can’t imagine what he’s going through right now.

“We’re not going back. At the least, I’ll be taking you to my crew. You can stay there until we figure this out.” He sees a car pull in. A blue Mustang. Undeniably Michael’s. Ryan moves to unlock the door. Michael knocks, a standard _tap taptap,_ his usual. Ryan lets him in, and Michael takes in the scene slowly. He sees Adam on the bed, who remains hunched, tucks his legs in a little closer.

“This him?” he asks and Ryan nods. “Yep. Michael, meet Adam. Adam, Michael.”

Michael stands at the foot of the bed. “Fuck me, dude.” He turns to look at Ryan. “This is the guy? This is the guy everyone is looking for?”

“Someone found out he was immortal. Started to make him fight and rig the contests in his favour. They’d kill him after each fight.”

“Jesus Christ. No wonder people are willing to kill for him. He’s a goldmine.”

“I’m also right here,” Adam says so quietly from the bed that both are surprised he spoke up. He’s looking at them with a calculated gaze, trying to determine his own worth in their eyes.

“And just how long have you been here?” Michael asks, hands on his hips.

“Four months,” he says. “When Ryan rescued me.”

Michael whispers harshly at Ryan. “He’s been with you for _four months_ and I’m just _now_ figuring it out?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No. This is you guilt tripping yourself because you can’t get over your own bullshit. You should’ve brought him to Geoff. But no. You get all sentimental and shit and think you can handle things on your own when you can’t. And now we got people crawling up all over our asses for this guy, two of them he killed in _your_ apartment by the way.” And then it’s like a light goes off in his head. “Is this why you were interested in that arson case?”

“He’s from the case,” Ryan admits. “A coroner found him alive and, I don’t know, must’ve struck a deal with someone because they started killing him again and again and—”

“I don’t remember,” Adam says, once more reminding them of his presence. “They’d shoot me after every fight. Two or three nights a week. Sometimes four. Or if they were just bored, showing off to a potential client what I meant. Everything’s patchy.”

And that sort of hammers it home for the both of them. Both Michael and Ryan have been on the receiving ends of repeated cycles of death. Whether intentional or not. It can mess up with their sense of self—what and who they really are in this crazy world.

They can’t undo the damage already done to Adam. That’s beyond them at this point. All they can do is keep him safe and try to chase out the competition. If people know that one immortal exists, then how long will it take for them to realize that the people he’s with are also immortal?

They’re immortal but not invulnerable. And sometimes it’s a painful lesson to learn.

“Well, shit,” Michael says, running a hand through his hair, the other propped on his hip. “Stay here tonight then,” he says to Ryan. “I’ll get you back to the crew tomorrow.”

Ryan nods. He understands it’s time now to come clean. He looks to Adam there on the bed and Adam looks back at him curiously.

Ryan can’t tell if he’s lost Adam’s trust or if he’s lost some of the respect he once had for Ryan.

Trust and respect are mutually exclusive of course. You can trust a man, but that doesn’t mean you have to respect him.

* * *

They go about it the long way to get to the penthouse. They can’t have anyone following right now, and with the LSPD on high alert since the incident at Ryan’s apartment, they need to be _extra_ careful. Too much attention and Shadles will know where to focus his means and methods. They can’t have that. They’re in a very delicate position as is to keep the peace while all these crimes lords sweep in and take a look around. Petunia certainly had friends in high places.

Adam has been quiet since he woke up this morning. He’s hardly said a word to Ryan, gave him a few looks, but not much else. He’s being thrust into a new situation so Ryan sort of understands. He’s frustrated. He’s nervous. He still has very little idea of what’s going on, and Ryan is partially at fault for that. He saved him and then immediately closed him off from the world because he thought he knew best.

He didn’t and still doesn’t.

They arrange for Ryan’s car to be sold and discarded. It’ll attract less attention that way. So they take Michael’s car back into the city. Adam’s sat in the backseat, and every few minutes Ryan will look back at him through the rear view mirror. Little is said on the ride back.

“Have you told Geoff?” he asks.

Michael nods. “Mmhm. He’s going to have a good fucking time with you.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it.” He catches how stiffly Adam holds himself. He looks miserable, and Ryan doesn’t know what to do or say to comfort him. It seems like anything he does make a situation worse.

When they get to the penthouse, it seems like Geoff called everyone in—the crew and those privy to the crew’s . . . secrets, shall we say. It seemed as if he called everyone and is just informing them of the changes they had to make in order to keep the peace and prevent severe infighting. Even the other gangs in the city are tense with these newcomers. When the party of three arrives, he dismisses everyone isn’t part of the core six. Ryan does notice how Adam stays behind him, though. He’s measuring everyone up quietly. He doesn’t know these people. He doesn’t know how they’re connected to the situation at hand. He doesn’t know anything, and that is all on Ryan.

“Just sit down,” Geoff says. He’s sat next to Jack who’s propped her head up on her fist. Ryan can’t tell if she’s bored or frustrated at this point.

He brings a hand up to Adam’s shoulder and guides him down into one of the empty seats across from Geoff and Jack. Michael leaves the both of them and goes to where Gavin and Jeremy are gathered. Once Ryan has sat down himself, no one launches into questions or comments. In fact, the room is uncommonly quiet. They’re all looking at Adam. Adam, for all he’s worth, looks down at the table and seems to act like he’s not even here.

Geoff then starts shaking his head. “I don’t even know where to start with this. Six . . . six is a solid number. Everyone partners up and it’s good. Seven? _Seven?_ Ryan, just . . . what were you thinking?”

Jack sets a hand on his shoulder and he breathes out in one fell swoop. “Just start from the beginning,” she says and Ryan nods.

He spares no details (except for the parts where they started to develop feelings for each other. Or did they? It’s all so complicated now). Adam’s status as an amnesiac immortal is the most important part of this story. He mentions a little bit about the arsonists from a few years ago and Adam’s connection to them. The people Adam ran with and maybe they’re still out there. It’s wistful, at the very least.

They’re all quiet for a long time after. The weight of what this means is apparent now. If a man like Shadles knows what Adam is, then a lot of other people might as well. Which means they’d do anything to get him back. They found a use for him and found out how to make him a clean slate.

Ryan already has patchy memories. It comes from a long, _long_ life, but continuous death in a tomb underground did a number on him as well. And to think someone could purposefully make him forget these people around him, people he’s known for so long. People he’s come to love and care for. It’s all fleeting.

“Is this true?” Jack asks, turning her attention and focus to Adam.

Adam has his hands folded in his lap, twisting and folding his fingers together. “Yes.”

“We’re not going to fucking hurt you,” Geoff says. “There’s nothing to be scared of here.” Geoff has always been sensitive to people’s emotions around him and gets uncomfortable when people are similarly uncomfortable.

“So you don’t remember anything then?” Jeremy asks because he remembers watching him fight like his life depended on it.

Adam shakes his head. “I can barely remember my own name. I don’t even know if Adam is it.”

“Do you have anything more we can go off of for the people you ran with?” Gavin asks.

Adam shrugs. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Geoff sighs. “Well, you’re safe here and I’m sure we can find you a place to fit in.”

* * *

It’s like they’re starting all over again. Adam moves in, is given a room, and is required to stay within doors. At least there’s more to do in the penthouse. But the fact remains that he’s still in danger and a liability. They won’t know what to do with him until they can come up with a plan to scare off the newcomers. Shadles included.

“It'd be complicated," Gavin says, "but we could try and leave a trail somewhere else. Doctor some photos of the guy in an airport somewhere. Buy an air ticket in his name off to Japan or something. Then that would probably take everyone else out of the city. Done and done. No blood spilled or nothing."

“If he doesn't even remember his own name, then how would he purchase a plane ticket?” Jeremy asks. "Shadles probably knows more about him than we do."

"Everyone believes a doctored photo. We just need to open up the photoshop and bing, bang, boom. Done."

"I think you're putting too much faith in technology for this one." 

“Gavin, this is why you don’t plan heists,” Geoff says. “You take everything from a goddamn movie.”

“At least I’m throwing out ideas.”

“Just keep looking for arson strings, okay? I want to find out who he ran with before we got here.”

Ryan’s less concerned about what they’re saying and more focused on the sight in the kitchen. Jack’s taken up to showing Adam to his temporary home—where the dishes are, where he can find the food. Adam’s actually smiling for once. He’s responding to her because she actually knows what she’s doing. She knows what to say. He tries not to feel bitter about it.

Michael plops himself down next to Ryan and asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“If my bug-out bag is packed and ready to go.”

He snorts. “I doubt it’ll get that bad.” He’s acting so nonchalant about this. Of course, Shadles isn’t much of a threat to them. Not when they’re facing down eternity. “Ryan, come on. It’s not as bad as you think. I mean, you did get him out of a pretty bad situation. I just didn’t think you wanted to play house with him first.”

Ryan stands up abruptly.

“Aw, Ryan, come on. Don’t take it like that.”

But he’s already leaving the living room and finding a quiet spot to sit and ruminate. He has a feeling he’s not going to be very useful during this whole thing.

* * *

Adam finds him after hours. He’s outside on the patio, sat in one of the pool chairs. The air has started to turn with the setting sun, wind ruffling Adam's hair, long grown out now after his secret life enclosed in Ryan's apartment.

“Your friends are nice,” he says. “Jack put me up in one of the rooms for now. She said they’re going to try and find the people I was with? I don’t know. It’s still a little farfetched to me.”

He drops off, waiting for Ryan to respond but never gets one.

“Ryan, I . . . I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling, but I’d appreciate it if you just talked to me.”

Ryan turns his head to him. “What do you want me to say?”

Adam shrugs. “Something, I don’t know. I just thought we were closer is all.”

“Adam, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy your company.” To make his point stand, he stretches his hand out and lays it on Adam’s.

He looks down at their hands and his expression turns sour. “But that’s not all of it. I get it. Our _whatever_ isn’t conventional. I don’t know even know if I’ve ever been in a relationship before. But I thought we at least mattered to each other. Otherwise you wouldn’t have kept me for so long.”

Ryan pulls away and sighs heavily. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

_“Kept you.”_

“Oh. I mean, it wasn’t exactly like that, though, right?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Adam turns silent. Ryan doesn’t know if he has the heart to care, or if he should care.

_Is it better to turn him away? Is it better to let their relationship wither and die because Ryan has known since the beginning that this was toxic but he was too selfish to care?_

“Once this is over, I’m still going to be here for you.” He stands and leaves, and for once Ryan doesn’t chase after him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shadles schemes, Geoff retaliates, and Adam's past rolls into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? more plot? more fluff? you better believe it
> 
> WARNINGS: blood, violence, temporary character death

The incident at Ryan’s apartment makes it to the news—the identities of the people who died made known to the public. Both ex-cons with long lists of felonies that weren’t native to the city. Or the state, for that matter. So of course people go digging into the apartment and who owned it. A fake name and account Ryan had painstakingly set up—all wasted now. But since the owner of the place and any other potential occupant were missing—and declared persons of interest by the police—it raised a lot of questions and caused a lot of commotion.

The Fakes are now on fire duty and they need to get it under control before it spreads. They keep tabs on Shadles, and he’s making his way around the city in a particularly thorough fashion. He wants Adam, and Geoff is doing everything he can to placate him.

If he offers him money, Shadles will get suspicious that Geoff is hiding something.

If he tells him to leave and is firm about it, Shadles will get suspicious that Geoff is hiding something.

They’re in a precarious situation here, and he knows it and he’s going to use that to his advantage.

* * *

A firefight breaks out between people Shadles brought in and with a crew the Fakes have contracted out for some time now. They don’t work under the Fake name, but they’re highly associated with them, so when they nearly get wiped by an outsider force, Geoff takes it for what it is: a threat. Shadles is putting the pieces together. He won’t approach Geoff directly, so he’s going to try and back him into a corner until he hands over what he wants.

Adam is kept out of everything except for helping Gavin piece together the crew he used to run with. He’s widened his search and began looking at major arson runs that had a similar motive in different cities, different states. He starts to get a pattern together. They seem to strike every five years or so, lie low on the funds they scored and move onto the next one. They were so damn successful, and Gavin is able to plot out their movements across the country. Not just here but across the world too. Major art heists stemming from the 90s, in which the artwork has still remained missing.

Whoever Adam was running with, they were good at their job. It’s just a shame it ended how it did with Los Santos and a devastating fire.

“We got a few images,” Gavin says, presenting his findings to the crew. “Of course, it’s the finest security footage of the early 2000s, so don’t hold your breath.”

Up on the screen, he’s compiled a collage of sorts. Black and white photos, grainy shots from an angle up high.

“From a gas station not far from a crime scene ten years ago,” he says. “Group of six as far as I can tell. Clearest ones I could get are of this guy and this gal.” He pulls up two photos in particular—of a tall man who looks like a professional gym trainer and a small blonde woman. “Ran their mugs through some databases and came up with some interesting files.”

One is of the man. It’s an enlistment document during the Vietnam War from the 70s. Jimmy Astro.

The woman’s is from an employee file for a security firm in the 90s. Elyse Williams.

“Do they look familiar?” Jack asks.

Adam has been staring at the photos with an intensity he’s never shown before. “They feel familiar.”

“And they’re likely immortal,” Jeremy adds. “Given the dates we got up there.”

“Oh, and that’s not the best part. Because I found out who Jimmy was partnered with.” The last photo he pulls up is off Adam—clean shaven and looking far too young to fight in a war halfway around the world.

_Private Adam Kovic._

“That’s me,” he says, although he doesn’t sound convinced.

“It is,” Gavin says. “Seems like you met part of your crew in the war. But since they last landed in Los Santos, they’ve near gone underground. Haven’t been able to track them since.”

“All this attention we’re getting might be just the thing to do it,” Ryan says. Adam at least spares him a glance.

The sooner Adam’s with his people, the better.

* * *

“Do you hate me or something?”

The wind is more biting this time around. They’re heading into November. Has it really only been four months since Ryan first laid eyes on him?

He looks over his shoulder from where he’s leaning against the patio railing. Adam is standing tall, standing proud almost. He’s so much more alive now than he used to be, like he’s more confident.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You have a funny way of showing that. What did I do to get this sudden turn in behaviour from you? It’s like you don’t even know me anymore.”

“It’s not that simple,” he tries, but Adam won’t have it.

“Bullshit it isn’t.” He storms forward, pushes on Ryan’s shoulder until he’s forced to look at him. “You are the reason all of this has happened to me. You saw something bad was happening and decided to do something about it. After every fight, everyone who’s ever bet on me or just sat and watched, you’re the first person who actually cared. You did everything you could to keep me safe. And then one bad thing happens and it’s like you forgot everything we had together.” He looks hurt, confused. “Why do you want to get rid of me so quickly?”

“Because I used you and we both know it,” Ryan says. Adam almost shrinks back from his tone. “Think about it. I kept you away from everyone and everything. I made you reliant on me. I made you love me, so if everything went to hell, I’d be the only one who could help you.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not—”

“You don’t even know yourself. How do you know everything you are right now is only here because I wanted it to be?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know, Ryan, you talk high and mighty about your own guilt. But just because I can’t remember my past doesn’t mean I don’t know who I am. How do I know who you are? After all the years you’ve lived, it’s likely that you’ve changed right? Give me some credit. Not everything is about you.”

He leaves Ryan with a lot to think about that night.

* * *

He gets high with Jeremy and Gavin one night because he needs a break from his own internal monologue and over the years he’s found that weed can cut through his teenage angst pretty well.

“I can see why you like him, Ry,” Gavin says. They’re lying in a bunch out on the patio. Jack would never let them smoke inside or even hotbox in the bathroom so out under the sun it is. Gavin has his head resting on Ryan’s stomach with his legs dangling in the pool water. Jeremy’s properly sat on a deck chair at least.

“He does look nice,” Jeremy says.

“Kinda looks like you, J, just a bit taller I guess,” Gavin says and laughs when Jeremy half-heartedly tries to swat him. Gavin takes another drag and passes the blunt off to Ryan.

“He is nice. Plus he’s fun to talk to when he warms up,” Jeremy adds.

Ryan takes his hit and hands it off to Jeremy, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long time.

“Did you two get up to anything while you were together?” Gavin asks. Ryan lets the smoke out in one steady stream.

“How do you want me to answer that, Gav?”

Gavin grins. “That’s all the answer I need.”

“Then why do you act like you barely know him?” Jeremy asks. “It’s like you’re avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him. I’m being realistic. We’re not good for each other.”

“You can’t just say that.”

Ryan shrugs. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re too wrapped up in your own misery. You make mountains out of them tiny hills.”

“Mole hills,” Gavin says.

“I thought it was ant hills.”

Ryan closes his eyes to the sun. “Your point?”

“What I’m saying is—”

“What he’s saying is you’re making yourself miserable. Yeah, you and Adam there didn’t have a normal start, but you guys cared for each other didn’t you? In the end?”

“It’s complicated,” is all he would admit to.

“When this all blows over, don’t just let him get away at the end,” Jeremy says. “He’s immortal. We’re bound to run into each other again.”

“You deserve to be happy, Ry,” Gavin adds. “Just let yourself be happy.”

* * *

He stops tiptoeing around Adam, and things get a bit easier after that. Adam’s mood seems to level out and he finds a good standing with the rest of the crew. Ryan doesn’t tread around him with caution, but he is aware of that longing again. Of knowing how Adam felt in his arms, what sounds he made, all the sensitive parts of his body like a map. He just hopes the dam will hold.

“If we do find your people, what will you do?”

Adam gives him a one shoulder shrug. “I’m not sure. It’s not like I remember them all that much.”

“You won’t know until you give it a chance.”

“But I don’t want to lose what I have here.”

“You wouldn’t lose anything. You’d be gaining something really.”

“Does that mean I can hang onto what we have here?”

He looks up at Ryan from under his lashes. And in that moment he’s transformed back into the nameless immortal dressed in Ryan’s borrowed clothes.

Ryan steps forward and just gently brushes his lips against Adam’s. Adam is all the more eager, bringing up a hand to hold Ryan’s cheek. “I doubt I could ever forget you,” he says.

Adam kisses him again. “That better be a promise.”

* * *

The fight—without calling it a fight—with Shadles comes to a break when the Fakes catch wind of a firefight on the edge of town. Shadles’s people are scattered from where they’ve set up in an abandoned and derelict suburb. No name can be put on the combatants, but Geoff never sent people there. In his need to keep the peace, he let Shadles and crews like him set up where they wanted to so they could do their thing and not be harassed by the native gangs here. So the only conclusion he can come to is that someone else is here.

“You think it’s them?” Gavin asks. “Adam’s crew?”

“That or just some rabble rousers,” Geoff says. “We didn’t get any high profile names from the airport.”

“Could’ve just driven in then.”

“I’ll send Michael and Ryan in to take a look. Shouldn’t be that big of deal.”

* * *

Low profile work demands a low profile car. They pick up a 2006 Mazda 3 and grab burgers on the way out. Despite having to do not much else but sit and wait in a car, Ryan enjoys this time with Michael. They get set up just down the street from where the fight broke out with some binoculars, a notepad, and of course the shared burger bag between them.

They’re taking in the damage first. There’s a wreck of a burnt out car next to the house that was busted in. Five people ended up in hospital, none died thankfully. That would’ve been another mess that Geoff doesn’t need at this time.

“How many people did Shadles end up bringing?” Michael asks.

Ryan peels back the wrapping on his burger and takes a hefty bite. “Wouldn’t know.”

Michael gives him a side glance. “Could you possibly take a bigger bite?” Ryan smiles at him around a mouthful of food. Michael shakes his head and chuckles.

Once he swallows, he says Jack suspected Shadles brought in a crew of fifty people. Not all at once but in small groups coming in from different points of the city. “Like he’s not small time.”

“A guy with that much fire power means he’s probably working for someone else,” Ryan says.

“I would not want to meet that guy.” He reaches over into the bag and pulls out a handful of fries, passing off the binoculars to Ryan.

He watches through the glass as some of the house’s occupants come out with packed gear and load up in a van. Once they leave, he and Michael can take a look around for clues.

“Looks like they’re on the move,” he says.

“I would be too if that’s what we’re dealing with.”

He sets the binoculars aside and makes note of the time, how many people are leaving, and the license plate numbers of the vehicles they’re driving. Just to keep tabs on them and see where Shadles is consolidating his forces.

Once Ryan has scarfed down the rest of his burger, he flips down the sun visor and checks out the mirror. He won’t be going into this unprepared. He digs out his face paint from the floor of the car and smears the black paint around his eyes. It’s not meant to be pretty, just quick. He flips up the mirror and ties back his hair. Michael is licking the grease off his fingers as Ryan pulls on the black skull mask and pulls his leather jacket over his shoulders.

“You ready, you dramatic bitch?” Michael asks, pulling on his aviators and checking his gun one last time. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

They leave the car and walk down the road as normally as they can. Normal in the subjective sense—one of them is wearing a black skull mask and the other a ratty, brown leather jacket with an image of a wolf on the back.

They first take a look around the burnt out car and the scorched road. There’s nothing there for them, but it must’ve been a bad fight if this is how it ended.

The door to the house was kicked off its hinges. Part of the door frame is cracked and scattered against the front foyer. An excessive amount of force then. The house was already in shambles before Shadles’s people moved in, but they can see the remains of their set up. Chairs splintered, a table flipped used for obvious cover in a firefight. Bullet holes in the wood of the table and the surrounding drywall. Blood on the floor leading towards the kitchen and the back hallway.

“I think we can say that the blood was from Shadles’s guys,” Michael says.

“They were on the defense,” Ryan says. “Whoever came in was prepared for a fight.”

They take a look at the shell casings next, determine the types of guns that were used. The Shadles’s people just had hand guns, standard 9mm. They didn’t want to cause a ruckus, because if Geoff knew people were moving major arms through the city, he’d throw a fit. The intruder, however, was carrying something heavy. Semi-automatic pistol of some sorts. They meant serious business.

“I think one of the intruders must’ve gotten hit,” Michael says. “Blood by the door. Not a lot but definitely a graze at the very least.”

Ryan follows the movements of the others out the back door. If all of them lived, then the intruders weren’t looking to bury them. They were looking to scatter them. He backtracks towards Michael, who’s stepped into the living room in the other side of the house. “Blood trail goes this way,” he says.

Ryan looks to the stairs and finds the trail leading up. “Over here, too. The stairs.”

“Like they were looking for something.”

“Check to see if there’s a basement. I’m going to follow this up.”

Michael nods and they part ways to search the rest of the house. Ryan heads up the stairs and follows the trail as it haphazardly wanders from empty bedroom to empty bedroom. It came to pool in the bathroom and judging from the handprints on the sink, the assailant must’ve treated themselves. He even finds a bullet hiding behind the toilet. As he thinks about it more, he realizes they must be dealing with one person.

One person on a mission. Dedicated to the core. There’s not more terrifying than that.

He goes downstairs in search of Michael, finds him in the basement.

“Hey, Michael?”

“Yeah? Not much down here. Think this guy was looking for something.”

“Same story upstairs. I have a hunch it was only one guy.”

“Yeah and the something might be a someone.” He ascends the stairs and they reconvene in the foyer. “Hospital records would be a bust. I doubt this guy would get patched up and risk exposure.”

Ryan steps out onto the porch and looks up and down the street. He hates how quiet it is. It feels menacing in a way. The air feels sharp, crisp in the late autumn evening. “Do we know if anymore of Shadles’s guys are in this neighbourhood?”

“Jack went and scouted. I can get her to text me the places,” Michael says, pulling out his phone and following Ryan down the road. He reads out the house street name and numbers as they come in. Ryan has no intention of getting involved with people who have nothing against him. Not tonight.

They scout the houses from afar, but it seems like everyone else has the same intentions as the previous house. They’re all packing up and getting ready to leave, set up camp somewhere else. What one man army could scare away all these people?

They carry on from house to house, keeping a low profile with the setting sun. Dusk is the worst time of night, especially in this neighbourhood with the cracked and flickering street lamps. It’s difficult to see anything with this light—great for cover, but not for checking your six.

By the fifth house, they’re considering calling it quits for the night. It’d be a coincidence to have the assailant strike the same area twice in quick succession. But they at least get a look at Shadles’s people and what equipment they’re packing. It’s terrifying to know that all these people are here for Adam. But maybe they got wind of something else in the area. Something bigger than just one immortal.

“I don’t like it,” he admits to Michael while they head back to the car and regroup. “Too many people in this city.”

“Let’s head back and tell Geoff what we saw. Maybe he has a plan.”

* * *

Geoff doesn’t have a plan. They’re getting so many conflicting reports from all their intel that it’s hard to sort through the filler and get to the truth. Shadles and his resources have amassed in secret. They’re hearing of them harassing other street crews. Maybe Shadles doesn’t exactly know who he’s looking for, but he’s working through the process of elimination. He’s determined and Geoff doesn’t want blood on his hands, so the noose draws ever tighter.

They work a lot in those days just to keep the peace, flex their muscles and reputations. It works for the most part. They show their might. They display their control and it gets Shadles’s attention at least, because he’s willing to come to the table again and discuss a little bit about what he’s up to.

“Heard your people got caught in a tussle,” Geoff says. “One in the ICU by the end of the night.”

“A freak occurrence,” Shadles assures him with an unsettlingly coy grin. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Need any help there with that? I can only _imagine_ how frustrating it is after all the time and effort you’ve spent looking for this cage fighter.”

Shadles tilts his head. “Well, you could be of help, I suppose. The firefight caused some issues for me, as you can imagine.” He sets his phone on the desk between them and pushes it towards him. It’s a photo—Jimmy Astro in the flesh, or whatever name he’s going by these days. It’s a grainy, fuzzy shot taken from afar, probably by a survivor from the attack that night. Geoff tries not to show anything.

“This your guy?” he asks, pushing the phone back and watching it be pocketed.

“He’s been seen in the area my people are set up in. Thought you might know who he is.”

Geoff shakes his head, tries to pull off the genuinely clueless act. “Wouldn’t be able to say. But I’ll let my people know to be on the look for him. See what he’s here for.”

Shadles nods his head. “I appreciate the help. Again, I don’t mean to impose.”

“Oh, you’ll know if you were,” Geoff says lightly and they have a small chuckle about. Both just playing the game.

Once Shadles leaves, he makes the call. “Our boy Jimmy is in town. Seems he’s set his sights on Shadles here.  Find out where Shadles is stationed. I have a feeling our guy is heading there.”

Even in their own city does it take a while to find where Shadles has set up camp. He’s established his own network here and they need to find out what he knows in the process. If they’re in danger by proxy of hiding Adam.

It goes without saying that they keep Adam out of this. Of course they explain what they’re doing to him in small details. Keep him in the know. Keep him from feeling guilty that this is all happening because of him. (It is, technically, but it’s a lot more complicated than that.)

“Jimmy Astro just sounds like a really fake name,” he says. He’s been looking at the photos of the man for a long time now, always being drawn back to them for a second, third, fourth look.

“It probably is,” Ryan says. “Immortals do it all the time. We sort of need to, given that we’re, you know, immortal.”

“Are you any closer to finding him?”

When they’re alone like this, Adam will ask questions. He’ll do it less often when the crew is in proximity. Ryan is still the only one he trusts.

“Getting there,” Ryan says because he knows Adam is curious. This many might hold all the pieces to Adam’s past. Ryan felt the same way when jack first rescued him—treated her like an angel because she made everything make sense. “We’re still scouting the area to pinpoint the exact location, but we should get it in another day or two.”

Adam nods stiffly and looks back at the photo. “Do you think Jimmy is short for James?”

“Could be. I’m not great with—“

“Names, yeah, you told me.” He smiles over his shoulder at Ryan.

Ryan lays himself out on the bed, groaning into the mattress as he feels the pressure in his back ease. He sometimes wonders if an immortal can contract a permanent illness or disease. He can’t remember the longest time he went without dying, but physics still apply when you’re immortal. He thinks he knows what arthritis is like. He’s experienced bubonic plague before, but it’s easy to hit the reset button and begin fresh. But with someone like Adam—amnesia. It’s terrifying to think that it could be permanent in a way.

_Immortal not invulnerable._

His new mantra, he thinks. Keep him humble and prevent him from being swept up in his Vagabond persona.

He feels the bed dip and turns his head to see Adam settling in for the night. They’ve taken to sharing a bed again, sharing light kisses and nothing more.

“If we find Jimmy,” he says in the darkness of the room. A long beat passes before he adds onto that. “I’m afraid of what’s going to change. There’s so much I don’t know, that I might never know.”

Ryan brings up a hand and brushes the back against Adam’s cheek, swipes a thumb underneath his eye and holds him there. “We’ve got all the time in the world to figure that out.”

Adam sighs and begins to press in close, fitting into the curves and dips left in Ryan’s wake. “I hope so.”

* * *

Shadles set up in the modern hell that is suburbia. Semi-detached houses, grassy knolls, parked cars on the streets, children roaming in packs. Human shields are what they are, and it makes Ryan feel sick as they scout out the area and try to find any weaknesses in Shadles’s defence. They want to plant some bugs in the area and keep tabs on him. Geoff and Jack are trying to create false rumors and draw his attention elsewhere in the city until they figure out how to make him lose interest in Adam and leave.

Ryan and Michael are on scouting duty again as Jeremy and Gavin try to lay bugs and tap their internet setup. They’ve got a number of houses to look into and it’s positively insidious with how Shadles has set up his network. Did he have connections in the city already? Was that how he moved in so quickly? Did he have allies? Why wasn’t he on their radar to begin with?

Ryan and Michael move up the street in a pair. Ryan has his hood pulled up over top the mask, offering some form of added protection beneath the streetlights and porchlights. He doesn’t feel exposed, per say, but he does feel taught like a bow string. The same feeling that haunted him on the previous scouting has followed him here and taken root in his gut.

They’re continuously fed messages from Jeremy and Gavin and their progress. They’re working around a house full of occupants, makes it harder to access the right electrical lines, but they’re the quietest people in the crew and they don’t have much time to waste what with the alarming speed at which Shadles is moving.

“I mean, I know I said I was bored a few weeks ago,” Michael says. “But all this espionage shit is making me itchy, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I feel like we’re in a warehouse stacked to the roof with tinder boxes and I’m just waiting for some idiot to light a match.”

“Hope I’m not that idiot.”

Ryan glances at Michael, sees the small fond smile he has and watches it grow as Ryan responds. “Gavin maybe but never you.”

Michael shrugs. “I don’t know. I _do_ like to play with fire from time to time.”

Ryan smiles underneath the mask and sways when Michael knocks their shoulders together. “I feel like we should go on vacation after this. You and me. Find an abandoned race track and just have at it.”

“Oh, I’ll kick your ass at that.”

“I’m honestly looking forward to it.”

They share a look, and Ryan feels a similar feeling flood his chest, the same he gets when Adam looks at him like that.

It’s hard to know what he means to Michael, how Michael measures his value in his life. It’s hard to know where they’re at in this moment. If they’re on again suddenly. And then what this all means with Adam’s presence.

He summons up the courage and asks, “Michael, I kind of wanted to ask you . . .”

“Yeah? What is it?” They come to a stop at the end of the street.

“Have you ever thought about us? Thought about what we could be if I wasn’t so . . .”

“Wasn’t so dramatic?”

“Not sure if that’s the word I’d use, but sure.”

Michael licks his lips and jams his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Ryan, you’re one of the only people who understands what it’s like to feel like you’ve lost a tiny part of yourself that you can’t get back. That either something you did or something that was done to you. And sometimes you do things to get that piece back, but it’s never really the same. I think for us I was just waiting—“

Gunshots cut off the rest of his thought. It’s coming from the house, the house Jeremy and Gavin are trying to bug.

They drop everything and run back to the house, weapons drawn and ready to fire. It’s a similar MO to the first fight. Door was busted in. The assailant has one thing on his mind and he’s not going to find it here.

Ryan yanks back his hood and rushes in first. He follows the sounds of the fight, ignores everyone else in the house but the one man army tossing aside those bravest to fight back like they mean nothing. He’s dressed all in black, bares a bullet proof vest over his sweater, hood pulled up over his head. Ryan lunges forward and grabs his arm in an attempt to stop him and his madness before things go too far. But the man moves quicker than he anticipated, and his fist is flying towards Ryan’s face and lands dead center on the bridge of his nose.

Ryan folds inward and falls to the floor. The ricochets of pain spark through the rest of his face and into his skull. He gapes like a fish out of water, feels the blood clogging his nose and trying to drown him from within his mask. He can hardly see through his mask from the way he’s laid out on the floor. He can make out sounds of a fight though—Michael grunting, Michael cussing.

Ryan rolls to his stomach, pushes up with his forearms until he can get his fingers hooked beneath the mask and yank it off. He spits out blood and tries to catch his breath. Then he hears a deep snapping of _bone._ He’ll never get used to it. It sounds wet and _wrong._ A soft, wet crunch and then Michael’s body is on the floor next to him, neck at an odd angle, eyes glazed. He looks up slowly at the assailant.

Michael’s left his mark. The man is bleeding from his nose, his lip, and, oddly, from his ear. Michael has no qualms about fighting dirty. The man turns his sharp, blue eyes to Ryan and crouches down close. He grabs a fistful of Ryan’s hair and pulls him up.

“Why are you following me?” he asks, mouth set in a grim, determined line.

Ryan only sputters. The fingers in his hair tighten painfully.

“Where’s the cage fighter? Got all these people looking for him and some saying a masked man came in the night and took him. That wouldn’t be you, would it?” And then his face contorts into something terrifying. Half mad. All desperate. “Because if it is, you won’t like what I want to do to you.”

Ryan makes a motion as if to speak, choking and spitting to clear his airways, and it pulls the man in. He surges forward and sinks his teeth into the man’s neck, earns a high pitched grunt of surprise. Wet and hot and slick floods down his face and just when he manages to turn the tide, the man slams a hand against Ryan’s windpipe. He brings his hands up to this throat, feels the world close in on him with each panicked breath that doesn’t reach his lungs.

He’s nudged onto his back by the assailant’s foot and held there with a boot on his chest. The muzzle of a pistol is brought to his face. “Pray to God you stay dead.”

“Hey! Back off.” Jeremy’s stern voice cuts through the lack of air. He comes in with his pistol held steady in both hands. “Back off or I’m going to wreck you.”

The assailant seems to weigh his options and removes his boot from Ryan’s chest. “More of you then,” he says, stepping away lightly from both Ryan’s fallen form and Michael’s body. “You can have them. Waste of my time anyway.” He holsters his gun and stalks out of the house like Jeremy doesn’t matter. He doesn’t really. They all know what this is about. 

Jeremy drops heavily by Ryan. “Ryan,” he says. “What happened?”

“G-Gav,” he rasps.

“Getting the car. We need to get out of here, bud. You think you can stand?”

Ryan nods. He’s shaking, but they need to get out of here before the cops come in. Jeremy moves to pick up Michael’s body and sling it over his shoulder, and then they’re moving to the door and to the waiting car at the curbside. Ryan slides into the back and takes Michael’s body with care. Jeremy slides into the front seat and then they’re squealing off.

“Who in the hell was that?” Gavin asks.

“Our man Jimmy by the looks of it,” Jeremy says. “And he doesn’t seem happy.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the crew meets the man named Jimmy Astro and things start to make sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit shorter this time around, but we're finally wrapping things up so expect some pretty heavy chapters next time around!

Jeremy takes care of resetting Ryan’s nose in the bathroom of the penthouse. It’s not a pleasant experience, but it’ll heal. Michael’s body has been laid out in one of the bedrooms for the time being, let him sleep off the regen a bit before they catch him up to speed.

Ryan clears his throat for the nth time as Jeremy tapes his nose in place and wipes off the rest of the blood from his lips and chin. There’s a darkening bruise at his throat from where he was sucker punched in the windpipe. He hasn’t been taken out that quickly in a long time. It takes a lot of skill to pull a fast one on him.

“What happened?” Jeremy asks.

Ryan coughs a little and swallows some water from an offered glass. “Heard gunshots.” His voice is wrecked. “Came in and found that guy. Tried to just . . . stop him I guess and he punched my lights out.”

“Took out Michael too.” Jeremy holds out his hands and helps Ryan to his feet. He stumbles off to Michael’s bedroom to just look in on him. He’s not breathing yet. Ryan would only feel worse if he were to sit and wait, so he closes the bedroom door and heads for his own room.

Adam is up against the headboard, back to his quiet self. Ryan begins to shed layers. Jeremy did his best to clear away the face paint with the blood, but he won’t be taking a shower until tomorrow. He drops his jacket, his shirt. His pants are shucked off until he’s left in his socks and briefs. He burrows underneath the covers and hates how he’s forced to breathe through his mouth.

“You heard,” he says because it’s the only explanation as to why Adam is sitting up like this.

“When Gavin told Geoff,” he explains. “You’re sure it was Jimmy?”

He nods.

Adam sighs. It has a tremble to it.

Ryan turns his head gently on the pillow and lifts a hand to tug at Adam’s arm. “C’mere.”

Adam shuffles down until he’s beneath the blankets with him. He’s mindful of Ryan’s injuries and presses his forehead against Ryan’s ribs. “He hurt you. He killed Michael.”

Ryan closes his eyes, sets his arm around Adam’s shoulders. “What are you worried about?”

“What if I was violent like that? I don’t know if that’s a life I want to go back to.”

“You can’t know what you were like before all this. And we don’t know what this man means to you. It means nothing, Adam.”

“He still hurt you.”

“And I’ll heal and so will Michael.” They can’t know what’s going through Jimmy’s mind or what his exact relationship with Adam really was. But he must’ve been pretty special considering the lengths Jimmy is going through in order to get him back. “We won’t let him hurt you.”

“That’s not what I was worried about.”

* * *

Ryan is sheepish the next morning around Michael. Michael sleeps in late and while the rest of the crew is trying to do damage control, Ryan is left in charge of seeing that Michael eats something and letting Adam mope about in an existential crisis. He’s trying to keep it simple for himself here.

Michael is holding himself stiffly as he tracks through the kitchen. He’s taken a hot shower hair slicked back into waves rather than the looser curls. Ryan is waiting by him next to the coffee maker with his own mug of decidedly not coffee but hot lemon and honey to soothe his aching throat.

“Whoa,” Michael says with a lightness to his words. “You look like shit.”

“Mm, feel like it too. Probably why they left me here.”

He watches Michael go through the process of making his coffee, adding in a liberal amount of creamer to it.

“Well, we sure got our asses handed to us.” Michael moves to the plate that Gavin left out for him, covered in a sauce pan lid to keep it warm. Fresh waffles.

“Nearly crushed my windpipe,” he says.

“I’m surprised he didn’t finish you off either.”

“I think he knows who we are. Said he heard someone talk about me the night I went to grab Adam.”

Michael nods and starts tearing off pieces of the waffle into large chunks before eating them whole. “Knows you but doesn’t know who you work for.”

“Went for Petunia’s contacts first to work it out. He’ll be waiting for us.”

“Well, I tap out.” He raises his hands up in surrender, folds a waffle in half and proceeds to eat it in one go. Ryan’s already moving to pull out more food from the fridge. “How’s Geoff taking all this?”

“As seriously as he can. He wants to talk to the Jimmy guy but somehow keep Shadles off our back so it’s a bit touch and go at the moment.”

“Mm.”

He finds leftovers from dinner and pops it into the microwave. Michael is always ravenous after he revives. Once he’s scarfed down half the serving of lasagne, he makes a comment. “Why do you look so torn up about this?’

Ryan looks up. “Hm?”

“You look like shit but not for the whole nose thing.”

“Do you remember what we talked about last night? Before the shooting started?”

Clearly not given the look of utter concentration Michael is performing to recall the memory. Recent events are always a bit fuzzy after dying. “Was it something serious?” he asks.

Ryan huffs out a breath. “We were talking about us. About why I’m always fucking things up. And, yeah.” He doesn’t know why he’s bringing this up now. He could’ve dropped it and be content in his own misery that he’ll never really _get it._ Just before he can back out and go check in with Adam, Michael stops him.

“I wouldn’t say you’re fucking things up.”

“We literally wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t grabbed Adam in the first place.”

“Yeah, but don’t go convincing me that you would’ve rather left him there with these people. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“But then a shit storm followed. I kept him away from everyone. Built up this imaginary life between us until it was unsustainable. And then this Jimmy guy comes into town.”

“Hey,” Michael says, letting his hands fall forward across the distance between them to grab onto Ryan’s wrists. “You literally have no control over what happens here. You did the best you could. Yeah, you went in a weird way with it, but that’s just the Ryan touch.”

Ryan sighs. It’s not exactly what he’s looking for, so he drums up the courage to continue. “We never worked out what’s between us. But I think I’m ready to.”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

When Michael smiles, Ryan knows he’s done something right.

* * *

They talk about it, about them, about how they started, what they did, and where they ended up. They talk about Michael’s struggles with accepting his immortality and wanting to do everything he could in a violent act of self-harm. Immolation. Isolation. Pursuing a relationship with one of the most dangerous people alive—Ryan. He wanted to experience all that life could offer him and it left him feeling burnt out and hollow. Which is why he left Ryan for a good two decades and even then their friendship was rocky at best.

And then they talk about Ryan’s struggles. How he sometimes doesn’t know what being him, _Ryan,_ means anymore. Why the Vagabond persona is so important to him now as a means of escape, of trying something new. How he tries to do something good and important, but fails near the finishing line.

“Jack once held me together when I had no clue what was going on,” he admits. “I don’t know if it’s because I was trying to pay it forward or prove I could be good like her, but it didn’t work out when I first met you.”

“I wouldn’t say Jack is good,” Michael says. “I’d say she’s just very rational about the times she lives in. That’s why she was so good for you and why you were so bad for me. You’re living up to something you can’t be.”

“I think I’m starting to get that.”

“And when you figure that out, I’ll be here for you. I think that’s probably what I was trying to get to last night. Before I kind of bit it.”

Ryan smiles. “It’s okay. I think we need to come to an agreement to have our meaningful life conversations not on the job.”

“You, sir, got a deal.”

* * *

“Jimmy’s going to come in and meet us,” Geoff decides. “I’m sending out Gavin and you, Ryan, to go get him and bring him here.” Geoff has leaned far back in a recliner in the living room, surrounded loosely by the lot of them.

“What kind of set up are you thinking then?” Ryan asks, sparing a glance back at Adam and how uncomfortable he looks.

“Head back to the docks. Wait on a street corner, I don’t know. We don’t know how this guy gets around, but if we start broadcasting your whereabouts to our people, then hopefully he’ll show up where we need him to.”

“So I’m bait.”

“I literally have no better ideas than this so yes. You’re bait.”

“Okay, boss, whatever you say.”

They’re fighting with one hand tied behind their back. If Shadles catches wind that they’re meeting with the man who’s been targeting his strongholds, then he’ll probably pull out all the stops and quit playing nice with the Fakes. They need to do this right, and they need to do it quick.

Ryan suits up carefully in the bathroom, painting around his eyes and tender nose. He could forgo the paint if he wanted to. The blood still hasn’t drained from around his eye sockets yet, so he continues to strike a resemblance to a raccoon. From the mirror he watches Adam slowly trek inside, watch him try to form his thoughts and put them to words.

“You worried?” Ryan asks because Adam needs some help getting there sometimes—needs a push.

“For you, yeah. For what this guy might do.”

“It won’t be bad. It’s just a meetup.”

“Yeah, but what if I don’t want to meet him?”

Ryan washes his hands under the sink and scrubs off the black paint. “If you’re uncomfortable, I won’t make you do this. But we can’t let this guy rampage through the city and make more noise than he already has.” He shuts the tap off, dries his hands. He grips Adam by the biceps and holds him firmly, securely. “I’m not going to get hurt again. It’s not going to be like last time.”

Adam sighs and falls forward against him for a brief moment. “I just don’t want this to be a mistake.”

“It won’t be. You’ll see.”

* * *

Leaving with Gavin is probably the best idea. While Michael says he holds no ill will towards Jimmy, if given the chance, he’ll probably tear at him again for the thrill of it and they can’t have that.

Ryan drives them out, mask firmly in place, but he sees Gavin extending a single finger forward and he shakes him off. “Don’t. Touch it,” he says.

“Aw, can’t be that bad,” he says. “Just one little poke. C’mon.”

“No.” He shakes Gavin again and plants one hand on his shoulder and shoves him firmly against his side of the car. “I’m driving.”

Gavin crosses his arms then and sulks. “Can’t wait to see this Jimmy guy, though. What kind of person can take out both you and Michael?”

“An angry one.”

“Glad I wasn’t there to witness it. Can’t stand all the blood.”

“And yet if you poke my nose, I _will_ bleed all over this car.”

“We don’t know that yet, so let me just give it a light poke.”

_“No.”_

* * *

They’re at the docks from late evening to early morning. The boredom is nearly what does Gavin in. If only because Ryan can only stand so much monotony in one sitting. Especially when Gavin is pulling stupid and reckless stunts by trying to balance on the dock railing. If he goes into the water, it’ll be a cold swim back to the beach just to get back. Ryan’s half tempted to push him in. That’s when he hears Jimmy’s approach.

He’s dressed in the same gear as when they last saw each other. His semi-auto is displayed at his hip, and he pushes back his hood. “You know where the cage fighter is.” He isn’t asking.

Gavin jumps down lightly next to Ryan, and Ryan nods solemnly. “I’ll take you to him. But I need your weapons first.”

Jimmy first takes his gun. He hesitates, weighs his options before he’s pulling the clip out of the gun and emptying the chamber. Ryan steps forward and collects the gun, hands it off to Gavin before he conducts a thorough search of Jimmy’s body. He’s willing and compliant at this point, but Ryan would say that he thinks he’s simmering beneath the surface.

With the weapons collected, they show Jimmy to the car, get him in the passenger’s seat while Gavin hops in the back. Just in case if he tries anything, he’s perfectly poised to take Jimmy out from behind. Ryan begins the trek back to the penthouse.

“So, Jimmy Astro,” Gavin says. “What brings you back to this great city?”

“Haven’t heard that name in a while,” he says.

“Yeah, well, us immortals have to get creative when we reinvent ourselves—else where’s the fun?”

“All of you then?” he asks and Ryan merely nods. “I figured. Heard enough rumors floating around of people that just won’t quit in this godforsaken city.”

“Caused a lot of problems for us,” Gavin says. “What was your plan exactly? Storm the castle?” Jimmy doesn’t respond. “You’re not the only one looking for the cage fighter, Jimmy. You stepped into a hornets’ nest—”

“Just call me James,” he says and his voice betrays something, the first crack in his shield. He sounds exhausted. As do they all with all this mortal bullshit going around.

“Well, that’s just lovely, _James._ It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan witnesses a reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> james!!! he's finally in the main time line and im so happy to finally bring him into the story so enjoy his interactions with the crew!

Gavin is always good at shaking down a criminal. He’s good at assessing a situation and knowing exactly what to say and in what tone to set the power dynamics in the conversation. Namely, that Gavin has all of it. He’s the one to lead James through the underground parking garage to the elevator, Ryan taking up the rear. They crowd James in more for just show than anything. Ryan watches him drum his fingers against his thigh. He takes off his mask, sees how James sneaks a glance at him from over his shoulder.

“Enjoying your handiwork, James darling?” Gavin asks. “Cause I’m sure Ryan would love to return the favour.”

The elevator comes to a halt and the doors open.

“This way.”

They lead James to the study where Geoff has his fake fireplace lit and the crew littered in various seats around the room. Geoff himself is sat behind the large wooden desk with Jack just an arm’s length off. Michael is against the left side with a crinkling bag of potato chips in his hands. Jeremy is sat at the back of the room on the couch next to the door. They’re all laid out casually with James sat in the middle. Ryan sits back on the couch with Jeremy. And then they wait. They wait to see who will make the first move.

“Where’s the cage fighter?” James says.

“Around,” Geoff admits to at least put that fear to rest.

“I want to see him.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. I want to hear the whole story. From you. What happened? How do you know him?”

James sits forward in his seat, clasps his hands together loosely. “We met in the Vietnam War. He was drafted. I enlisted. He had his first death there, and when he came back, I knew, knew I had to protect him.” He looks Geoff directly in the eye. “You must understand. New immortal. They could get hurt so you do what you can to help out.”

“To an extent.”

James nods. “But we got closer in the end. I introduced him to the others I’d met over the years.”

“There are more of you?”

He nods.

“How many?”

“Including me and him. Six.”

“Why aren’t they here with you if he means so much to you?” Jack asks.

He shakes his head, gaze dropping to the side. “I haven’t seen them in a while. We kind of split after . . .”

“After what happened last time you were here,” Geoff says. “Yeah. We heard about the arson. It turned bad for you in the end.”

“We went looking for him, but the guy at the morgue had no idea where they took him. We lost track of him. And then it was like the whole dynamic changed. So we mostly went our separate ways. Kept in touch though.”

“How’d you get here then?”

“Heard things. Rumors mostly. A ringer getting killed and her clients coming to collect. Something about a cage fighter that wouldn’t go down. I was just—hopeful really. But when I got here, I heard more. The Vagabond for one.”

“And you decided to go fort by fort until you found him.”

He nods. “I didn’t care. I just wanted him back.” He sounds haunted. Has he spent all this time looking for Adam then? What. Fourteen years now? Must’ve been lonely. No wonder he is the way he is.

“Right,” Geoff says, leaning forward on his desk. “Then I’ll let you in on something. One of the ringer’s clients? Co-workers? I don’t know. A guy named Shadles. You’ve been scaring off his people. He’s interested in the cage fighter too. And I don’t think he’s here to just let you get what you want.”

“I wasn’t prepared to give him anything.”

“But you’re still making a mess for me and mine. I can’t just let you take the fighter and leave right away. Because then we’re left to clean up the mess that you started. And if he finds out that we’re immortal, then we end up in the same situation your friend did.”

James’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

Geoff looks to Ryan on the couch. “Why don’t you see if our boy is ready to meet up yet?”

Ryan nods sternly and leaves the study. He finds Adam in the kitchen sat at the breakfast bar with a barely touched meal in front of him. It looks cold. “I heard you when you came in,” he admits. “Ryan, I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Ryan says softly, leaning down on the bar to look him in the eyes. “He’s very calm right now. He’s been very forward with us. But I know he wants to see you. I can bring him out here if you want, if that makes it easier.”

Adam nods and sniffles. “Yeah, yeah I think that’s best.”

Ryan can’t help but placate him with a kiss to the temple. Adam moves to stand and head to the living room as Ryan ducks back into the study. “He’s in the living room,” he says, watching as James cranes around in his seat at any mention of Adam. Just how close were they? What sort of relationship did they strike up?

“Go on over,” Geoff says. “Take your time. But we’re not going anywhere.”

James is up and on his feet as soon as Ryan moves from the doorway. He eagerly follows him to the living room. Adam is standing near the sliding glass doors that would take him to the patio. A quick exit if anything.

James rushes around Ryan as soon as he sees Adam, but Adam flinches back from the sudden movement. It causes James to stop dead in his tracks.

“Adam,” he says reverently.

Adam looks to Ryan, but he straightens away from the door.

“James,” Ryan says. “Take a seat.”

James looks back at him, wide blue eyes, but with another look spared at Adam he seems to understand the situation. He backs up and takes a seat on one of the couches. He keeps looking to Adam though, and that sets Adam on edge. His shoulders are raised, arms crossed. He’s defensive, so Ryan tries to show him that everything is okay by sitting down across from James, leaving Adam enough room to join him if he chooses.

“Adam,” James tries again. “I’m sorry if I—”

“I don’t know you,” Adam says, stone cold, meaning to bite.

“What—” He looks to Ryan for an explanation.

“The ringer. She used his immortality to fix games. Made him fight the meanest people and then would kill him after to make him heal. They made him forget. It was too much damage for him to take.”

Adam is glaring now, staring down James like he’s an intruder and wants him gone. It’s not that far from the truth.

James rests his elbows on his knees and catches his head between his hands. He sighs heavily.

(Ryan wonders if this is how Jack felt when she first found Ryan in that tomb. Trying to build up a man she once knew and not knowing if it’d work. This is the road James is finding himself on.)

Seeing James in this hunched position gives Adam some confidence. He moves away from his corner of the room and comes to sit next to Ryan, arms remaining crossed.

James wipes his face down with both hands. “You really don’t remember?” he asks

“Bits,” Adam says. “Pieces. You hurt people I care about.” To punctuate this he tilts his head in Ryan’s direction. They sit shoulder to shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have. If I’d known.” He gets to the very edge of his seat, trying to get closer to Adam without spooking him. “I just haven’t seen you in a long time. I thought you were gone. We all did.”

Adam turns his head to him. “We?” he repeats.

James nods, starts to dig out his phone. “The rest of us. I saw Bruce last. Four months ago I think? He’s in Florida. Has been for a while now. Has a nice place on the beach where he can surf. He likes it there.” He brings up his photo album and sets the phone on the coffee table between them. He sits back fully before Adam even dares to reach for the phone. He begins to swipe through the photos with Ryan looking over his shoulder. James continues to talk about all of them. About Bruce and his ‘retirement’ phase in Florida. About Lawrence living in New York and enjoying the nightlife there. About Matt and his cabin in the Northern Canadian wilderness. And finally Elyse, having found her current passion as a dog trainer.

And then they get to older photos, ones with Adam in them. Ryan takes the phone from him and holds it in his steady hands between them.

“We went our separate ways,” James says. “Needed a break from all of it after . . . after we lost you. Like suddenly we weren’t invincible anymore.”

They keep flipping through the photos. It’s of the group on down time, just having fun, harmless kisses on cheeks, and simple roughhousing. Adam caught between James and Elyse. Adam wrapped around Lawrence or wrapped up by Bruce.

Adam pushes Ryan’s hand aside when he’s had enough, so Ryan sets the phone down.

“I kept looking,” James admits. “I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to accept that you were just _gone._ The others looked too, but they were too shook up by it. But I couldn’t—”

“Stop,” Adam says. “Just stop. I just—” He buries his head in his hands. Ryan tentatively sets his hand on his back. He brings his head up, eyes wet. “I don’t remember you.” He breathes in shakily. “I remember _pieces_ of _something,_ of _someone,_ but not you. How can I trust that this is real?”

“Because what I feel for you is still _real,_ ” James says. “What we have didn’t just disappear when you were taken from me—us,” he amends.

Adam presses a hand to his head and winces. He makes a soft noise of distress.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks. “Do you need a break?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m . . . I’m all right. I just.” He breathes in with a shudder. “I have all these pieces in my head that I can’t put together. But it doesn’t make sense when I see people I feel like I should recognize. But don’t.” He leans back against the couch, head on the backing, hand over his eyes, and bringing his legs up. Ryan can never know what’s going through his mind, but it must be a mess of memories and conflicting feelings. And Ryan doesn’t know if anything he’s done in the past few months has helped or hindered Adam’s sense of self.

James sits forlornly on the other couch, his phone clutched loosely in his hands. “I’ve upset you.” He stands and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “I’m sorry. I’ll . . . I’ll leave.” He begins heading back down the hall they came from.

“James, wait,” Adam says. He brings his hand away from his face.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Ryan reminds him softly. He doesn’t want to see him in anymore distress than he already is.

Adam rolls his head towards him. “I need to know.”

James stands at the edge of the room. Adam sets his feet back on the floor, uncurling a bit.

“You know something about me,” Adam says. “I don’t know if who I was to you is still _me._ ”

“I know,” James says.

“But you know things about me. You have photos. Just . . . how long have we known each other?”

“Decades,” James says. “We met in the Vietnam War where you first died. And I decided to stay with you.”

“And then what?”

“Then we fell in love.”

“Oh.” He sinks back. “Excuse me, I—I need some air.” He stands up and heads for the patio door.

Ryan stands slowly and turns to James.

“What happened to him? Really?”

“They messed with his mind, and I . . . I didn’t exactly help.”

* * *

They sit down and set it straight. Ryan confesses his side of the story and how he believed he was helping Adam. Although he’s truly not sure if did at all.

“Do you love each other then?” James asks.

“I’m not sure,” Ryan says truthfully, voicing the doubts he’s been having since he brought Adam here. “He was dependent on me, and I think I liked that. Liked being his entire world for a while. But it couldn’t last the way that it did. He says he loves me, but I don’t know if that feeling will last forever. If he’ll figure out who he is deep down inside.”

The sky is changing colours now. Ryan feels an ache in his bones that he doesn’t think will leave even if he sleeps for a week. This is deeper than physical exhaustion.

“I didn’t mean to mess things up. I just . . . I did what I could to help him. They didn’t treat him like a person then.”

“No, I understand,” James says. He’s loosely curled up on the couch, is the most relaxed Ryan has seen him all night. Like all his fire is gone. “I should be thanking you for finding him. Instead I nearly caved in your skull and killed your friend.”

“Michael’s fine. And I’m . . . I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t have done the same thing. You lost a lot of years with him. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“More like I lost decades but,” he sighs. “I suppose new memories can be made. That is if he even wants me to stick around.”

“He does. I just think he’s confused. It doesn’t help that he’s got so many other people after him.”

James hums. “What’s your plan for dealing with them?”

“We’re not exactly sure. We don’t know how many people are here working for Shadles or other people wanting a piece of the action. But if it means we’re at risk here, then we’ll have to consider leaving.” Which is something they don’t really want to do. They’ve set down roots here. They’ve got a good few years yet before people start getting suspicious. It’d be a waste to throw it all away, but if any single one of them gets caught by Shadles, then they’ll be finding themselves in a similar situation that Adam was in.

Footsteps come in from the hall. It’s Jack, pulling things down from the cabinets to start breakfast. James stands suddenly. “I should consider leaving,” he says then.

“Or don’t,” Jack says. “Not like you’re an enemy here. I won’t judge.”

“The crew is fine with you,” Ryan says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s morning and I need my coffee and I don’t care if there’s a stranger here. You want some, Jimmy?”

“It’s . . . it’s James, and sure, I guess.”

“Coming right up, Jimmy.”

The world continues to turn. The sun begins to rise on a new day. Equilibrium is somewhat restored.

Some of the crew are still awake. Others have crashed out. The coffee is brewing and James is slowly pacing around the living room, looking out the patio doors to where Adam is out on the patio. Ryan pops two ibuprofen in one go with a chaser of water. He could crash out on the couch, but he’s Adam’s only support network in the house at the moment. He’ll have to wait yet.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Jack says. “Coffee’s ready.”

James tiptoes into the kitchen, head low, voice soft. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Food’s in the fridge and wherever else you can pull it down from. I trust you won’t get up to anything.”

He shakes his head. “Not me, ma’am.”

“Good. Because until further notice, you’re staying right here with all of us. No more trouble with Shadles, got it?”

James nods. “Of course.”

Jack then takes her mug and heads down the hallway for one of the bedrooms. The patio door then finally opens and he turns to look. The tip of Adam’s nose is flushed pink from the stiff wind. Ryan moves to him.

“You okay?” he asks, fully aware of James watching them from the other room.

“I’m tired,” he says. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay.” He takes Adam by the shoulders and leads him to the bedroom, sparing James a glance on the way.

When they get situated under the covers, Ryan’s blackout curtains firmly in place, Adam begins to crumble. The tears are silent at first, but then his breath shortens into an offbeat rhythm. “Oh, Adam,” he says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Why can’t I remember? I just want to know.”

Ryan shushes him and holds him tight in his arms. “Things will get better, you’ll see.” Because they _have_ to. Because Adam deserves happiness. But Ryan doesn’t know if he can promise those things.

* * *

“Ryan, kiss me, please.”

It’s mid-afternoon. They’ve both been sleeping on and off for hours now. Adam is wiggling in his arms, leaning up over Ryan.

Ryan brings a hand up to Adam’s waist and holds him as he leans down and kisses him on the lips. He cups Ryan’s chin, kisses him while Ryan’s still not really awake. They part. “Adam,” he says.

“I want this,” he mumbles. “I want you.” He leans in to kiss him again, deeper this time, and Ryan lets him do it. He weaves his other hand into Adam’s hair, thick and overgrown. They try to work around Ryan’s tender nose, but it’s not always easy. When he makes a hurt sound, Adam pulls off. “Sorry,” he says.

“No. It’s okay. Still a bit sore, it’s fine.” He holds Adam’s cheek, enjoys how he leans into the touch and calms himself. He turns into Ryan’s palm and kisses him. He leans down slowly and kisses just to the side of Ryan’s chin then down across his jaw and neck. Ryan sighs and tilts his head back. He lets Adam explore him like he used to. He swirls his tongue in the hollow point between his collarbones, laves attention to the sensitive points behind his ears and on the sides of his necks.

Ryan brings his hands to Adam’s waist, just under his ribcage. He feels so warm and solid beneath his hands, no longer trembling because he’s scared or overwhelmed. He’s _sure_ of this. He _wants_ this.

Adam pants against his shoulder as Ryan skims his thumbs just below his nipples. He pulls back up to take his shirt off, letting Ryan admire the pale, freckled expanse of his skin, the way his chest heaves and blossoms with colour. All for Ryan to have and to mark and to claim.  But he pushes that deep sated want aside. They can just have this and this is nice.

It goes no further than that. Some light touching, a little more kissing that grows more and more sluggish. They lie out next to each other, curled towards each other. Adam raises his hand to push Ryan’s hair back behind his ear. Ryan takes his wandering hand and holds it between the both of them.

“No matter what happens, no matter what you decide, I’ll be here when you need me,” Ryan says. Adam blinks once, slowly. For now it has to be enough.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam learns and mourns who he used to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooohhhh last chapter. plus a little something as an epilogue afterwards!

After an off-kilter day spent in bed, Adam gets up to stretch and take a piss. Having washed his hands, he goes into the kitchen and finds orange juice in the fridge. He pours himself a glass on the counter, and his eyes drift over to the living room. It seems James has been sleeping on the couch, head pillowed by his own sweater. A dirty bandage peaks beneath his shirt sleeve. Adam downs his glass and makes a decision. He goes into the living room and sits down across from him. It doesn’t take long for James to wake—if he was even asleep.

He sits up and stretches, and Adam notes how he holds his one arm a bit more stiffly than the other. “What time is it?” he asks.

“Five-ish,” Adam says. “Early.” He points to his arm. “Need help with that?”

“Oh, this? It’s fine. Just need to clean it.”

“No, I can . . . I can help. Come on.”

They head for one of the larger bathrooms in the penthouse, the one with the Jacuzzi tub. Adam closes the door and begins looking for one of the first-aid kits underneath the sink. James is trying to take off his shirt but with some difficulty. There are bruises scattered across his back and darkening his ribs. The bandage is taped and wrapped messily around his bicep and shoulder.

“You can just—sit on the edge of the tub?” Adam suggests and James nods. He tracks Adam as he steps over with the kit and kicks over the waste bin. He starts by using the scissors to cut up the length of the bandage. Then he uses both hands to peel off the tape, catching the way James winces, how his jaw clenches. He bundles everything up and tosses it into the bin. A bullet wound sits high up on his arm, red and inflamed. “That must hurt,” he says.

“I’ve had worse.” James flicks his eyes up briefly.

Adam picks up the rubbing alcohol and pours out enough to fill the cap. “I need you to hold it against your arm.” James nods and watches as Adam carefully tips the cap against his skin. James hisses between his teeth and holds the cap in place. They’ll have to flush it out a few times, he figures, before they attempt to wrap it up. He doesn’t know if it’ll need sutures. He doesn’t know much about medical care other than what the ringer did to him. But in his down time between fights, he was still required to train. Sometimes he would too harshly. Split skin on his knuckles. A sprained finger or wrist. And if they weren’t too close to a fight, they’d wrap him up and douse any cuts with rubbing alcohol. It wasn’t great, but he at least has some knowledge of the fact.

Once he’s finished dousing the wound, he looks to the small suture kit in his hands, starts reading the instructions.

“I can guide you through it,” James says.

Adam nods and tears the packet open. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Once he’s pulled a pair of gloves on, James instructs him on where to start, how deep to go, and how tight to pull.

“Kind of reminds me when we used to do this,” James says, filling the silence as Adam sutures his wound shut. “I could never stand to see you hurt. So I’d always be the one throwing myself into danger. And you’d always be there to clean me up.”

Adam tries to focus on his work. It’s not the largest wound ever, but his stitches aren’t the straightest. It should be fine.

“You were a medic in the war,” he continues. “That’s how we met actually. I was laid up in the medical tent and I was under your care. You were still new at it, but you learned quickly and that’s how we got to know each other. The next time we met, you were ferried out to my platoon in the midst of a firefight. You got caught up in it, and we couldn’t move you. Get your body back to where the choppers would land, so we waited. Then you came back. And this time I was there to help you.”

It’s so much for Adam to take in while it’s just the two of them. In this private space. But Adam can tell the memory is a tender one for James. It’s their first meeting. Adam wishes he could remember it.

“Good thing we had each other’s backs,” he says and he hopes it was the right thing.

“Yeah, well, we had no one else at that time,” James says. “We . . . were a pair, you and me.”

Adam drops his gaze, wipes down James’s arm deftly, and wraps it with gauze. He tapes the ends in place and leans back to look at it. “Tight enough?” he asks.

James looks at it and nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

He cleans up the mess and washes his hands under hot water as James picks up his shirt and pulls it on. As he dries his hands, he asks, “Would you mind telling me about the others? And maybe some of the things we did?”

James raises his head. “You sure? I don’t want to upset you.”

“No, I . . . I want to know.” If only to understand a piece of what he had once. To let James have this and gain a sense of peace.

“I’d love to.”

Adam smiles. He hopes he’s doing the right thing.

* * *

_“It was a month long hike through Spain, but Matt really wanted to go on it. He’d never done the Camino before, so we made a plan for it. Matt was the only one determined to walk the whole way, so we tried to stick with him for the most part. But some of us like Lawrence and Bruce would take a break and meet up with us in the next town nearest the route. But you wanted to stay the whole way, even if your legs were killing you by the end.”_

When Ryan finally steps into the kitchen a whole forty-eight hours spent between sleep and awake, he finds this scene: James and Adam in the living room sat in front of a laptop, shoulder to shoulder, browsing through a collection of photos. Michael turns to find him as Ryan rubs his eyes and stumbles towards the fridge.

“Where’d they get the laptop?” he asks.

“James asked to show photos to Adam,” he says. “Gave them one that was just lying around. Didn’t see the harm in it.”

And he’s right about that. The two have their heads bent together. Adam is showing obvious interest in what James has to display, so they’re all good signs.

Ryan stands against the counter and watches as James continues to talk about all the things they used to do together, sharing only the best memories, none of the heists they pulled. Only the positive stuff. He stands and watches as Michael moves around him to get breakfast going for the no doubt ravenous crew that have yet to emerge from their room.

It’s like the two of them—James and Adam, Adam and James—are old friends reconnecting, swapping war stories, boasting about the good ol’ days. And in a way they are reconnecting, truly. Despite the complications of Adam’s recent past, he is so open to everything that James has to show him. He had his reservations, but here he is, asking questions and participating. And James—James is looking at him with fresh eyes, gleaming and so proud, yet with a shadow of devastation. He lost Adam. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get him back.

And all Ryan can think is that he won’t be able to keep Adam either.

A hand on the back of his arm gets his attention.

“You wanna help me with the waffles?” Michael asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

* * *

Their dynamic changes. The dam’s burst, and Ryan can’t stop the flow of water. He doesn’t think he should, but he wants to.

Adam is gravitating more towards James with each passing day. James has so much to share and say. He hasn’t told his people what he’s discovered here, as far as they know. They’re taking this at Adam’s pace. But then he begins to spend more time with James, eager and brimming with questions, and while he comes to Ryan with smiles at the end of the day, Ryan knows deep down what Adam really wants. He wants to be the man he used to be. And maybe he still is to some degree.

“What do you want?” Ryan asks. He only asks these questions when they’re alone at night. It’s the only time he feels confident in doing so, here in the dark with Adam and only Adam.

“I don’t know. James is—I don’t really know. But he feels nice.”

 _“Feels nice_?”

Adam shoves him. “Fuck off.”

“You said it first. I’m just pointing it out.”

Adam huffs and in the dim light of his room, Ryan can just make out the pout of his lower lip and the furrow in his brow. _Adorable._

“Adam,” Ryan says, softer this time to connote a deeper meaning. “If you want to leave with James, you know you’ll have all the support from me. You clearly enjoy talking to him.”

“I know, I know. It’s just—I don’t want to leave and suddenly have it be a mistake later on.”

“I don’t want you to hold yourself back.”

“But what if I’m just a stranger wearing a familiar face to all of them?” He begins to sit up, getting worked up over just a thought, and Ryan has to coax him back down.

“That’s not what I see.” Adam blinks at him, eyes bright and focused. “Whatever it is the two of you had, James brings something out in you that I’ve never seen before. It’s like you’re comfortable in your own skin for the first time. You might now know yourself, but it’s like a part of you still does, and I want you to explore that part of you before you decide to settle down.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he says.

“You’ve had a hard life. I’m just trying to help you make sense of it all.”

* * *

“Would you come with me?” James asks.

Adam starts to see it now. Despite first impressions and James’s initial aggression against those he’s come to care about, he thinks he knows why _past_ Adam fell in love with him. James can assess anyone’s mood on instinct and adjust accordingly. He knows how to read a room, how to please people. He’s _likable,_ yes, but he’s also genuine. He wants to make Adam smile and laugh. He wants to provide for him in any way that he can. He’d probably do anything and everything just to get Adam’s memories back, but it’s starting to seem like an impossibility at this point. Too much physical damage that can’t be undone.

But he also knows when to show considerable restraint. He knows when to pull back and let Adam rest on all he’s been shown and told for one day, knows when to avoid a particular topic. He never pushes Adam more than he’s willing to be pushed. And he’s only doing this because Adam asked him to. Otherwise, he would’ve left by now.

“Just say the word,” he said. “If you don’t want me here, if you don’t want a part of this life anymore, I’ll leave. I’ll let you be.”

But Adam wanted to know, so James gave him everything. He gave him their first meeting, Adam’s origin story. A foster child from California with no future prospects other than to join the army. Then where they went after the war and who they met.

“I introduced you to Elyse first,” he said. “We were already married. Had been several times over, but I’ve always trusted her and just as expected you two hit it off.”

“Wait,” Adam said. “You two were . . . are married?” He nodded. “Then how did it work with me? You said that you and me were—” _Lovers,_ but the word made him blush.

“Yeah. We are married. But we loved you too.”

“Oh.” _Oh._

It went much deeper than that as James continued. Talked about the others. Matt who is probably the oldest but never liked to talk about his past. Bruce who’s seen it and been through it all and still manages to look on the bright side of life and find positivity in anything. And Lawrence, who’s too smart for his own good, proud and boastful and yet hides his tragedy so well. And Elyse, James’s other half. Or maybe he’s the other half of her. They’ve been entwined for so long now that it’s hard to remember who made the first move. They make up a core group of immortals in the same way the Fakes are now. They were and continue to be involved in messy and complicated relationships with each other, but they would never have to experience losing each other like they would their mortal friends and family.

“But you did lose someone,” Adam said.

James nodded with a weary tilt. “We did.”

It’s another night before Adam mustered the courage to ask James about that night—the night he died. He didn’t think he’d ever be prepared for it, but he wanted to know how they got here. How they all ended up in this location at this moment.

“We wanted to have some fun in the 80s,” he said. “You were just figuring out what being immortal was. The honeymoon phase, we call it. And we wanted to do something big, so we planned this big heists. Stealing paintings and jewelry, breaking into houses and robbing people absolutely _blind._ The 90s were a good decade for us. And then we hopped across the states and ended up here.

“The job was . . . it went bad from the start. Increased security. Bad intel. We were way in over our heads. The fire got out of our control and the security was well armed. The house was collapsing and—you got caught under it. Elyse and I, we, we tried pulling you out, but we had _no time._ Cops were on top of us. Security forces were pressing in. We—” He shook his head. “We’d been through it before and always got each other out. So we had to leave you behind and carry on. Get you from wherever they held you.

“We learned that you died, so we found a way into the morgue to pull out your body. Let you sleep off the regen and leave the city behind. But when we got there, we learned you were taken away. We didn’t have names to go off of. We didn’t know anyone criminal or otherwise in the city, so we looked. We did everything we could in a city that was already hounding for our blood.

“We began to think of reasons why you’d be taken. If the police got to you first or FIB or goddamn CIA. Anyone. It turned up no leads. We broke off into pairs and groups to look for you. We scoured airport security footage, gas station footage. Local DMVs to see if anyone was forging documents for you. Nothing turned up. We had _no_ leads. So we went broader. We went to places we treated as safe houses, places we would meet up or hide out at if we were in trouble. You never did.

“One year turned into five. Five to ten. You had maybe thirty years on you for your immortality. You were like a child to us. And losing you like that terrified us. It broke us, really. We started blaming each other, living out of regret and fear. And then we knew we had to live for ourselves for a while. Accept that maybe you did really die. Matt headed out first. I can’t really blame him. He’s seen too much to live through something like this and needed space to clear his mind. Then Lawrence and Bruce went in separate directions. Elyse and I continued to look for a little while longer, but not for long. I was pushing too hard and she couldn’t keep up with me forever. I told her to stay put for a while. I didn’t want to push her any more than I already was.

“I’d take breaks, but I never really stopped looking for you. I kept waiting for a word, a whisper of someone who couldn’t die. And then I heard of a cage fighter gone missing, a talented fighter who’d beat all the odds set against him. And I had to believe this one time. It just—it had to be you.”

There was dampness on Adam’s cheeks. So, too, on James’s. But Adam was surprised at his own reaction to this. He didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know these people. Or rather, he didn’t _remember_ them. But he remembered the _sense_ of them? It was all so confusing. His emotions were all over the place.

“I’m so sorry,” Adam said. “I’m so sorry.” He dragged his fingers across his cheek.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” James said, face alarmed and worried that he upset Adam. “We should’ve called the heist off. We should’ve quit when we had the chance.”

Adam shook his head. “I’m sorry _for you_.” James looked up at him, mouth slightly open in shock. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that for so long and it doesn’t even pay off in the end.”

“But it did. I found you.”

“Not the same me.”

“No, and you might not be ever again. But I will take you as you are at any time. Just having you here now, speaking to me, is more than I could’ve hoped for. I don’t care if you don’t remember anything. You’re all that I would need. All that I would ever need.”

It was a heavy night after that conversation. Adam wept bitterly when he was back with Ryan. For all that he knew now and still didn’t know. That which he couldn’t reclaim.

So now when he thinks of the question would he leave with James to reconnect with people from his past, it starts to become a little bit easier.

“I want to,” he says. “I’d like to meet them, the others.”

“And they’d like to see you.” His hand twitches by his side and he comes to cross his arms, like he was going to reach out and touch Adam but thought better of it. He’s done it many times now.

_Lovers. They were lovers._

Yeah, but what about Ryan? What’s it about Ryan that makes it hard to choose?

Or, is that the right question to ask? Does he even have to choose? He didn’t have to when it came to James and Elyse and maybe the others, he’s still not sure about that part. But if he didn’t have to make a choice then, he won’t have to make a choice now. He can have Ryan if he wants to. They can make something lasting, something worth it. And he can have James. Recreate what he once had and make it into something new.

They’re immortal. They can do what they want and still fuck the rules.

“I want to go with you,” he says.

James smiles at him. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

There are moments when he has to remind himself of how far he’s come. He’s not alone anymore. He’s not in a dog cage. He’s not fighting for his life. He’s not reset every time he gets injured. He’s safe for the first time in recent memory. And that in itself is a pretty freeing revelation.

* * *

The crew is called in to sit and offer their opinions when James wants to talk to Geoff. This time Adam joins them and he sits across the table from James next to Ryan. It’s a semi-formal set up. Whatever James has come to ask of them will likely be the end of this chapter and the start of a new one. It depends on if they can grant him his ask.

“Adam and I have talked and . . . he wants to leave with me.” He manages to say it without being smug, and Ryan doesn’t know why he wants to see James in this light. As the overconfident, egotistical man he is. But he’s not. He’s been around the block before. He knows how this goes. And he’s not the enemy here. He’s not here to steal Adam from Ryan and it’s not like Adam can be stolen, not like before. He can choose who he wants to be with.

“And where would you go?” Jack asks. “This city and other major ones likely won’t be safe for either of you. You’ll have to lie low.”

James nods. “I understand that. I have friends, close friends that we can go to. One’s on the east coast. Florida, actually. Along a private stretch of beach.”

“Well, that is about as far away as you can get from us at this point,” Geoff says. “It’s just a matter of getting you there without being noticed.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time.”

“No, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Give them a car and let them drive out of here,” Jeremy suggests. “Airports should be avoided.”

“Yeah, and with good reason,” Gavin says. “One word of where either of you are and you’ll be skewered. Driving’s the long route, but it’s a route.”

“No ferries either,” Michael says. “They can’t go directly to mainland. They’ll have to take the bridge across the bay.”

Geoff nods. “Right. Hope you’re prepared and comfortable with a long ass drive east.”

“It’s the best we can hope for,” James says.

All eyes then turn to Ryan and Adam. The final word is theirs, apparently, and Ryan doesn’t know if he’s meant to say anything right now. Should he? Is it his choice to?

“Car ride would give you a lot of time to think about this,” Ryan says, looking to Adam and holding his gaze. “You up for it?”

Adam smiles and nods, doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I want to go.”

“Then it’s settled,” Geoff says. “Gavin, let’s find these boys a car.”

“Right-o, boss.”

* * *

Geoff isn’t going to let them go unprepared, so he has Jeremy, Michael, and Gavin head out to make some purchases and brings back some essentials for the long trip ahead of Adam and James. They throw everything around the living room upon their return and pull Adam into their antics. He still holds himself a bit awkward when he’s with them. He plays along with their games and their jabs, but it’s like he’s forgotten how to be playful and he’s just mimicking what he’s seeing. Ryan adores it regardless. Those three bring something out of him that he thinks Adam’s been missing. The sense of having a good time, of simply living in the moment. He didn’t get that with Ryan.

He finds himself moving to the back of the room, watching the chaos unfold as the three try to help Adam pack without much success. He stands where James is, who can never take his eyes off Adam whenever he’s in the room. Ryan can’t blame him.

“You’ll be leaving in the morning,” he says.

“Yep. Car is set up. We got a route picked out.”

He nods. These are things he needs to hear. Tomorrow he’s going to be letting go of someone very special to him. Someone he’s come to love and trust and respect. He’s going to miss Adam. He’s accepted it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t still impact him once he’s gone.

“I need to know,” he asks, angling his body towards James’s. “Will you do everything it takes to keep him safe?”

James looks at him with utter sincerity and openness. “You know I will.”

“I don’t,” Ryan tells him plainly. “I don’t know that much about you. I see what you’re able to bring out of Adam. But that’s all I know.”

James falls quiet and looks to Adam, smiling there as he sits on the floor among a myriad of new clothing that Jeremy is balling up and throwing at him. “I nearly spent fifteen years looking for him. If I could trade places with him, I would. I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe. And if we’re ever in trouble, you’ll be the first to know. I’m not going to let this happen again.”

“And if it does, we’ll be there to help you.” He pats James on the shoulder and passes back into the living room and sitting down on the couch.

Adam looks up at him from the floor. “Your crew isn’t all that helpful.”

“They never really are.”

Ryan’s time with Adam is limited—for now—and he wants to savour every moment. Adam is sweet, something Ryan hasn’t had in his life for a long time now. But he shouldn’t keep him here for that reason alone. Adam needs to discover himself, and Ryan needs to let him.

They have their final night together behind closed doors. Adam is vibrating with excitement and in part trepidation.

“James says if we keep our rest stops short, we can be there in three days,” he says. “Meet Bruce.”

“You’ll have a fun time.” Ryan pushes back the overgrown hair from Adam’s forehead. It’s grown in thick and shaggy from their time together. It’ll add to his disguise as he crosses the country. “Just take it slow and listen to James.”

Adam furrows his brow. “What? You don’t trust me?” he teases.

“I trust you. But it’s a big world out there and I don’t want you getting swept up by it.”

Adam bumps his nose against Ryan’s, whispers, “I won’t,” and kisses him.

* * *

They’re all gathered in the parking garage early the next morning. It’s not the typical ‘see you off’ into the sunset moment, but it’s a moment on its own.

They got a car for James and Adam, something non-descript that they should be able to just drive out of here in and head east. Across the bridge to the mainland and through the highways and back country roads all the way to Florida. It’ll be a long trek for them especially since they need to stay out of sight of any major cities and avoid gaining the attention of Shadles and those he employs.

While James sees to the car and has their gear packed away, Adam retreats to the side to have a final with moment together.

“What’ll you guys end up doing about Shadles then?” he asks. “He’s not exactly going to leave any time soon.”

Ryan shrugs. They have yet to get to that point where they truly know what they’re doing. He knows Geoff is struggling with the idea that anyone of them could be forced to _forget._ Abused and hurt just as Adam was. And Ryan knows that haunts him.

“Might see how this plays out,” he says. “We like it here, but maybe it’s our time to move again. Take a vacation for a little while. What’s important is that you get away, start fresh somewhere else.”

“You make it sound like I’m leaving forever,” Adam says, putting on a bashful act to hide his nervousness.

“We’ll see each other again. And this is the modern age so don’t forget you can just, you know, _call me_.”

Adam huffs and rolls his eyes. “Dick.”

Ryan laughs and leans in to kiss his cheek before Adam can recoil like a cat. “Seriously, I’m happy for you.”

He smiles softly. “Thank you for doing all that you did. And risked. For me.”

“And I would a thousand times over.” And that is a promise.

They kiss once more, on the lips just chastely. It’s a goodbye and a promise of something more. Something in the future when they’ve both settled and found what they need.

When they finally leave, when Ryan finally realizes that Adam is gone and off in capable hands, he feels a deep melancholy begin to seep into his bones. Adam had been his entire world for months and now he’s gone off to confront his past. He’s at a sudden loss of what to do.

Then there’s a touch on his arm. Michael. It’s always Michael.

“Sap.”

Ryan shakes his head, but he smiles still. “If this Shadles stuff goes south, would you still be interested in taking that road trip with me?”

“You know I’m up for anything. Just tell me when and I’ll be there.”

There’s a lot unknown yet and a lot they still have to do. Will they stay to fight Shadles? Will they continue to stay in this city?

_Does all this matter when you’re staring into the face of eternity?_

But as they gather upstairs in the boardroom, ragtag crew gathered around, Geoff leans back in his seat, looks so close to propping his feet up on the table.

“So, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he says. “What do we say to a good ol’ fashioned heist to show everyone who we really fucking are?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan and Michael leave for a road trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there you have it. the story is finally done. thanks all for those who kudoed and commented. i had a lot of fun writing this story and i hope you all enjoyed reading it

The air is hot and dry here in Nevada. It’s high summer and the sun is shining down on them strongly. Ryan has his window rolled down, his seat tilted back, and is enjoying the breeze as it pours in. He can hardly hear the radio over the sound of the wind passing over them. It doesn’t matter. Ryan hasn’t felt so relaxed in years. Why didn’t they get away sooner?

They’re driving an old Chevrolet Chevelle from the 70s. It’s Michael’s passion car and he’s always been dying to take it on an extensive back country road trip, and now he has the opportunity to do it. He’s spent years tinkering with this car, rebuilding it, refurbishing it until it was in a fit state to drive again. It’s roomie. It’s good for sleeping in on the side of the road, and its handling is incredible.

Ryan scans the horizon and the flat plains around them. It’s barren out in this area, but it’s so very open, so different from the city of Los Santos that they left behind. The race track is up on the right, an abandoned relic when dirt tracks were for the people and not for the media and the masses. Left to waste away this far in isolation.

He levers his seat into the upright position and catches Michael’s smirk. “Thought you were asleep,” he says.

“I was.” He stretches. “I think. This it?”

“Yeah, it is.” Michael makes the turn and takes them off the road. “Haven’t been here since it closed in the 80s. Surprised to see it’s still standing.”

The decades haven’t been kind to this place, but it’s because of its isolation that it still stands and offers a considerable track to drive on. They pull in through the old racer’s entrance, and Michael edges the car onto the cracked tarmac of the track.

“So what are you thinking?” Michael asks.

Ryan surveys the area around them. The track is wide open before them with no competition standing in their way. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on for the past five years?”

Michael pushes his sunglasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. “Yes, sir.”

He presses the gas pedal into the floor. The engine revs and the tires squeal to propel them off down on the track. The speed is something Ryan lives for. The moment where he’s pinned back against his seat with the momentum. This is always going to be exhilarating for him.

Michael likes to drive fast and drive reckless. He wrecks cars faster than anyone, burns out tires, trashes mirrors and steering columns. He pushes these things to their limits and this car is no exception. Ryan’s tempted to lean out of the window like a dog, lean out as Michael takes the turn and fights the car for control before heading out onto the next open stretch.

They take several laps of the track, switching it up who’s behind the wheel, and seeing what turns and what moves they can pull. When they decide to give the car a rest, they pull up to the concrete barriers of the pit stop. Ryan manages to balance himself out on top of one of the barriers, stretching himself out on his back as Michael scrounges around for any artifacts or souvenirs or spare parts they can take with them on their journey.

“You think the others made it out okay?” Michael asks as he inspects a wrench.

“No doubt. They’re capable of looking after themselves.”

When he’s done scrounging and saving what he wants in the trunk of the car, Michael comes to sit on the barrier next to Ryan’s head. Ryan stretches up a hand and lays it on Michael’s thigh, receives a squeeze from him in return.

“So where off to next?” Ryan asks.

They left with no set destination in mind. Only _away_ from Los Santos and that life. It had nothing more for them now. They were free from their obligations there and could continue on here—do what they pleased and go where they liked.

”We have been on the road for five days,” Michael says, stretching out his arms and back. “I feel like we could probably dig out the map and chart a course.”

“Yeah? Where to? What are you feeling?”

“Why do you always do that? Let someone else make the choices?”

Ryan shrugs. “I’m a people pleaser.”

Michael shoves at his shoulder. “Come on. Make a decision here. Where do you want to go?”

Ryan thinks on it for a moment. He’s been part of a crew for so long that he’s had to make decisions largely based on what’s best for everyone and not necessarily himself. Perhaps he needs to start living for himself and figuring out who he wants to be, what he wants out of this world.

And right now all he needs is Michael to keep him anchored to the ground. But all this discussion of plans and road trips does give him a thought.

He pulls out his phone and opens the screen to a message chain with several images attached. He passes the phone off to Michael who takes it all in quietly.

“East coast? You serious?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s your stomping grounds, isn’t it?”

Michael returns his phone. “Yeah, I just haven’t thought of it in a while. It would be good to visit. See all the things that have changed.”

“Big city. Lots of opportunities.”

“He looks good though,” Michael tacks on as an afterthought.

Ryan brings up the latest photo again. It was sent a week ago, but Ryan hasn’t been able to stop looking at it. “He does.”

“We’ll make it a surprise for him then.”

“I haven’t told him we left.” He locks the phone and pushes it deep into his pocket.

“No?”

Ryan shakes his head and moves to sit up. “I just wanted this time for you and me. He’s happy where he is. Let him have that.”

“You wanna take the wheel then? Figured if we hit the road now, we could be there in the next day.”

“Yeah, I figured we’ve meandered long enough now. Let’s get back to doing what we do best.”

Michael tosses his keys in the air for Ryan to fumble for and catch. He laughs. “The look on your face.”

They get in the car and Ryan takes it out of the old race track and back onto the tar and gravel roads that are common in this area.

He thinks he’s figured it out. He thinks he knows what he wants—at least in this moment. And right now all he needs is this: Michael at his side and the open horizon stretching out miles before them. And from there on, they can figure things out as they go along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @staranon95

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @staranon95


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